Dum Spiro Spero
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Pactio was such a simple spell, but it always seemed to cause so much trouble: In their friendships, in their love lives, in their battles… Still, while facing down all the might of Asgard's strongest, there are worse things Nessiah can fall back on.
1. First Kiss Magic

Dum Spiro Spero

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yggdra Union or the Latin spells from the Negima! manga that will be used here, but this (rather ambitious) story belongs most definitely to me—and in lesser part Whitewash, my beta and cowriter. Don't steal, claim, or otherwise use unless you want us to hunt you down and hurt you. (smile)

It wasn't his home, but it was a place of comfort.

It didn't belong to him alone, but—it was understood without words that this was _his _place, _his _sacred sanctum. It was where he spent most of his time nowadays unless he had something better to do—much of every day, and long into every night.

The library was immense, but the fact that it was underground still made it feel enclosed enough to be comfortable. The shelves spanned from the vaulted ceiling to the floor, and there were many ladders set up so that patrons could choose books on higher ones without requiring wings to reach them. The books around were of all ages, and on almost every subject imaginable. Between the rows and rows of literature, there were lamps fixed to the walls, and overly plush furniture in every corner. At the center of the room, along the thick green carpet with its swirls of red and gold, there was a beautiful mahogany table, with a loveseat dragged up next to it in place of a chair.

And there—surrounded by piles of books not quite high enough to teeter and loose leaves of paper with fresh lines of writing still drying on them—he sat, as he'd been sitting for several hours.

At a distance, he might easily have been mistaken for a child; closer up, it was easier to see that he was a young man who seemed in his late teens—or perhaps twenty, at a stretch. He was of short stature and slender, with deft small hands and delicate facial features. His skin was pale—barely a hue past pure white—and his hair was a soft shade of dirty blond, cropped inattentively around his face so that his bangs fell heavily over his eyes. He wore magician's garb in the form of a tattered and time-worn hooded violet overrobe, which he'd shrugged halfway off sometime during the night, and beneath it a sleeveless white underrobe that fell in elegant folds to just above his ankles. Its neckline dipped a bit in the back, so that when he was clothed so and bent over his work, a passerby would catch a glimpse of the ancient, ugly scars that carved over his shoulderblades and along his entire back.

Yes… at a glance, it was only those scars and the heavy loops of dull gold chain running from his shackled wrists to the interlocked plates of metal covering the upper half of his face that alerted others to the fact that he was no ordinary mage.

With a sigh, he straightened up a little and tugged his overrobe back over his shoulders with a shiver, though he left his hood down and didn't fasten any of its clasps. He set down the book he'd been reading and dipped his pen in the inkwell sitting near him. With the night's reading material out of his way, he swept a hand over the blank, yellowed pages of the immense spellbook that sat in front of him. He hesitated, re-dipped his pen, and set it to the page, beginning to write in flowing script. He'd had this book, called the Revelation of the Gods, since he was a child, and it was among other things a chronicle of his life and magic: a combination encyclopedia, vessel of power, and daily diary. Part of the book's magic was that it would always have pages left. He would never reach the end of it, and no matter how much he wrote into it, he would always be able to find whatever he needed in it at a moment's notice.

At the top corner of the page, he first wrote his name, with the capital letters framed in artistic arabesque and the last letter trailing into a broad swash: _Nessiah Artwaltz._

He let the nib of the pen settle for a moment after the _Z, _then lifted it to see that he'd left a perfect period there. He sighed again, chewed his lip minutely, then coated the nib in ink again and began to write in earnest.

_Last night, I dreamed of home. I hadn't in a while, and was starting to hope that I wouldn't again. Gods, gods, the pain was indescribable, other than to say it was horrible. I've been sucker-punched enough times by my subconscious as it is; why must it persist in doing this to me?_

_I miss it. I've always missed it. There is beauty here on the surface world—great beauty, terrible beauty, the beauty of enlightenment and renaissance—but it's never compared, and never will. I want to see perfect skies again, smooth brick streets and white marble pavilions. I want to see bright green grass and clover contained in well-groomed lawns, and I want to be able to soar the path to my workshop, barricade myself in with my supplies and make wonders again._

_But as things are, I doubt I'll ever be allowed back. With my last chance at taking it all back gone… and no forgiveness… I'll never go home._

_Just writing those words is like running a jagged blade down my heart. The thought is too painful to face, and if I didn't know better, I'd be afraid the horror in it would be enough to break my mind._

_But I do know better. After everything I've been through, it will take more than that to push me back to the edge. I have to believe I'm stronger for all this._

Nessiah hesitated again, and then began to write only to see that his nib had run dry. He stared at it in frustration, then dipped it again and resumed his writing.

_Even though months have passed, I'm still not sure what to think or feel about what's happened. I was so close. I could've done it—would've done it. But humans, in their tenacity and foolish refusal to abandon hope or try to understand… and the weakness of my own heart, my emotions… I've failed, and the Gran Centurio is lost to me forever. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Hoping that I would be able to right the wrongs in Asgard was all that's kept me going for this long._

_On the other hand—even if those in Fantasinia, if those in the rest of the world despise me, I'm still accepted here in Bronquia. It's spring now, and people talk of working in earnest to salvage the ruins of Flarewerk and the castle and rebuild them, stronger than ever. And they smile at me, and tease me into agreeing to do what I can. And I think of what might have happened to this place, the country of the exiles and the beaten and the broken and their irrepressible hope and love, if I'd been able to wage my war… and my heart trembles, and I fear to think what I would have become if harm had befallen them._

_And I did make a promise, after all. As long as the little Queen tries to hold up her end of the bargain, my most pressing task is to be here to watch. To help, maybe._

_It confounds me at times why I am not hated here. If it weren't for my plans, the country would not have been so thoroughly ruined, and there are people whose faces would not be missing from the tables at mealtimes, at meetings—Leon, whom we might've salvaged with time and a bit of proper coaxing… Eudy, with her cannons and her flirtations and her perfect acceptance… Baldus, who always told me I was welcome as a member of his family… the people of Bardot. Why don't they blame me for their losses? Heavens and hell know _I _blame me._

_The days drag purposelessly, and are gone as soon as I turn around and think. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself—day-to-day, or once this is over and all those I know are gone. I just don't know._

_All the centuries—I got through them by wanting something, and trying to get it. And now I don't know what I want._

_…That isn't entirely true: I know exactly what I want. And I can't have it._

_Isn't it enough that I died for them? Isn't it enough that I came to their call—so soon afterwards that I was in shattering pain for long after, and am only beginning to feel like myself again now? Isn't it enough that I protected them with everything I had left to me, in a battle I couldn't ever have won?_

_Isn't it enough that I let them seal my precious sword away, and tear my heart in two with it?_

_They tell me I'm one of them now, and they don't seem to realize that if I am, if I let myself care at all, each of them becomes a wound waiting to open. They'll age and die; I won't. I can't take that. I can't take so much loss. I'm afraid I'll break, and then I'll be so lost as to retreat into mad blackness again._

_These blind eyes will continue to watch for as long as the world passes before them. Maybe these humans can keep their word, maybe they won't. All I know is that I must find some purpose other than to be the chronicler of their age, or I'll go insane again._

_Please, grant me some kind of answer. For all I've suffered, surely I deserve at least that._

With another sigh, Nessiah set his pen down and stared dispassionately down at his words. He watched the ink glisten in the candlelight, and leaned forward to blow on it softly, helping it dry more quickly.

He was just about to resettle into the loveseat, curl up and consider getting some sleep, when the heavy door to the library creaked open.

Before he could sit up and demand who was disturbing him, a calm voice echoed through the room: "General. If you're awake, His Majesty has been wondering where you are. Breakfast is set out, and you've been tardy or missed the morning meal enough times that he worries about what your eating habits are becoming. Your presence would greatly ease his mind."

"I'll be there," Nessiah called back up, and the doors groaned shut again.

With a mild sound of annoyance and sleep deprivation, he stood, smoothing out his robes as he slipped into the sandals he'd kicked off so he could curl up on the loveseat. "…Morning. Morning already? I could've sworn I'd just come down here a few hours ago… ah, well. Time escapes the busy."

Pragmatically, he fastened the first clasp of his overrobe and pulled his hood up, then gathered up the Revelation of the Gods and slipped down the aisles of books to the stairs leading up and out.

* * *

If there was one good thing to be said for being blind and having to use magic to see, it was that it didn't take half as long to adjust when walking out of darkness into truly disgustingly bright light, and it didn't make his head hurt. Just a few minute manipulations of his sight spells, and he might as well have been outside for the past several hours.

After Flarewerk had been razed in the war, the survivors and the Imperial family had relocated to this town—the inhabitants had plenty of room to spare, and the Royal Army had left it alone as it hadn't been in their way. Maybe it wasn't the castle, but for now everyone was still just grateful for the roof over their heads and the warm bed for them to sleep in. And as for Nessiah—well, he'd just fallen in love with the library and it would've been hard to get him to leave it behind in favor of some other place.

But it was a town, and the mayor's hall wasn't big enough to house the remnants of the Imperial Army—and so while the townspeople either broke their fast in their own homes or came out to help, the refugees all got together to eat outside at a long series of tables set in three rows.

Most of the people there were already eating, and talking loudly to each other. Seeing them, Nessiah stopped walking and held the Revelation a little closer to his chest. It wasn't as though these people were unfriendly—he just got a little uneasy around uncontrolled crowds.

But before he could continue to hesitate, a figure at the end of the furthest table stood up and beckoned. Nessiah smiled, and made his way down the path to join him.

"Well, that took you bloody long enough! What in the world were you _doing _in there? Come on, let's eat."

"If you say so, Gulcasa," he said with the hint of a laugh.

"Yes, I do say so. Now listen to your Emperor for once and eat your damn breakfast."

Gulcasa was tall—he'd had nearly a foot on Nessiah when they'd first met, and he'd grown several inches since then—with a working man's lean layer of muscle and a shock of brazen scarlet hair that fell past his waist. His eyes were beautiful gold—in battle or when he was angry they glowed bright yellow, and when they softened, they darkened so that they looked nearly brown. He had stronger facial features than Nessiah, with just a touch of aristocracy in his high cheekbones. Like all those of his blood, his ears swept back into sharp points, as though he was some type of Sprite or faerie. Despite his high station, Gulcasa usually chose to wear simple clothing, so as usual, he had a black sleeveless shirt and red denim pants under the Imperial cloak. His arms were bound in white linen from elbow to wrist, as was his throat; there were some things he felt it would be better to not tell his people at times like these.

He was a good man with a protective urge that ran miles deep, a temper that could be dangerous once he was provoked, a proud lineage of dragon's blood, and a heart full of acceptance. He'd been Nessiah's friend and caretaker ever since a group of unruly bandits had taken him unawares and Gulcasa had found him barely alive. It was a strange relationship at times, but it was solid—and that solidity had caused Nessiah a great deal of grief, because he'd gone and done what he'd never allowed himself to do for hundreds of years: He'd gotten attached.

And so he'd been put in the uncomfortable position of either going with his stringent plans and betraying Gulcasa, throwing his lot in with the Royal Army… or abandoning the goal he'd sought for nearly his entire life in order to stay with the people he'd grown to care about. He'd chosen door number three, and removed himself from the situation entirely, waiting for whatever outcome there was.

Which had been in itself a kind of betrayal.

Gulcasa had found out—of course he'd found out, chasing after the Royal Army to repay his debt to them like the _idiot _mortal he was—and he'd been furious, but more than that he'd been hurt. They'd fought side by side, lived together, and the fact that Nessiah hadn't trusted him with his true identity and purpose, his past—it had been hard for Gulcasa to accept.

And yet Gulcasa had held him while he was dying, his eyes heavy with tears. And he'd come to the rescue when Nessiah would've lost against the angel posted to guard Heaven's Gate. And after everything, he'd welcomed the friend he now knew was a fallen angel back to his country with open arms.

_Humans. _There were times when Nessiah thought he'd never be able to understand the way their minds and hearts worked.

"Don't play with your food. Eat it," Gulcasa scolded from next to him.

"Yes, yes," Nessiah said absently, tiredly. And swayed a little where he sat.

"Whoa—hey, don't go face-first into your food, either!" Gulcasa laid both hands on Nessiah's shoulders, holding him steady. "Didn't you get any sleep at _all _last night?"

"I was _going _to…" Really, he hadn't intended to stay up the entire time. He'd just gotten… sidetracked.

"You're impossible." Gently, Gulcasa brought Nessiah to rest against his shoulder. "Lean for a while. Eating's important, but it won't do you much good if you're going to fall asleep in the middle of it. No more all-nighters for you unless you're going to _sleep _after them, you understand?"

"Yes," Nessiah said sleepily, and nuzzled a little closer into his friend's shoulder. Gulcasa was warm. The library and the early spring breeze were chilly.

"And don't get too comfortable there—you _do _have to eat, you hear?"

"Yes," Nessiah said again. And then everything went soft and blurry around the edges, then mercifully black.

* * *

He woke to warmth and a vague dizzy feeling, and vaguer embarrassment at having gone down so easily.

"I hate to say I told you so, but really, I'm not _that _good at resisting temptation. So. I _did _tell you so, stupid."

Making a face and running a hand over his faceplate and through his hair as if to swat away the grogginess, Nessiah sat up. He was flopped on a bed he vaguely recognized as Gulcasa's; Gulcasa himself was sitting in a chair across the room with his elbows on his knees and his face balanced on his hands. He had that crooked smile on, and was beginning to arch one eyebrow in the way that told Nessiah he was desperately holding back the urge to tease.

"Mnhh…" Nessiah shook his head a little, making his chains chime. "Sorry."

"Apologize _after _you eat. I don't want you fainting again out of energy loss—it isn't even noon yet; you've only been out for a few hours." So saying, Gulcasa picked up a tray of food that had been sitting on the small decorative table in the corner and put it on the bed, giving it a light push towards Nessiah.

Apparently Gulcasa had learned Nessiah's weakness for Bronquian confections—and human breakfast food in general. There were those fruit-jelly buns Gulcasa's little sister Emilia had gone out of her way to get him addicted to, still-steaming rice balls, dark smoked bacon, spiced sausage, salted hash browns, and that deep-fried bread batter that nobody could ever resist.

"It's all fresh," Gulcasa said helpfully. "Since I was getting the feeling you'd come around sooner or later, I harassed a few cooks into helping me with this."

Translation: Gulcasa had made at least some of this himself. "You made me breakfast in bed? And here I thought _I_ was supposed to be the manipulative one." Biting back a helpless giggle, Nessiah shook his head. "Gulcasa, I can't possibly eat all this."

"Really?" Gulcasa said mildly and raised his eyebrows. "Well, don't mind if I help." So saying, he reached out and removed a few strips of bacon from the plate and got started on them.

"As long as you _leave me some."_ Surrendering—as surely Gulcasa had been planning—Nessiah stretched out on his belly and pulled the rest of the bacon towards him, out of his friend's reach.

"Hey…" Gulcasa edged forward in his seat and went instead for the sausage links. "I _need _the extra energy, you know! Brongaa burns through mine like it's nothing, and keeping a soul that powerful under control takes _work."_

Guilt and pity clenched in Nessiah's chest, squeezing his heart. _And you would never have been put in the position where you felt forced to try to resurrect Brongaa if it weren't for me… while you'd never slap at me with that, it makes it no less true. _Because his feeling sorry would only irritate Gulcasa, Nessiah made himself shrug and maneuvered the food on the tray so that everything his friend had already sampled was out of his reach. "You do have a valid excuse, I'll give you that… but it kind of defeats the purpose of fixing me everything I like for breakfast in bed if you eat it all yourself!"

"Hey, I had the self-control to not scarf it all before you woke up, didn't I?! Gimme a little _credit, _here!" Still, Gulcasa was laughing as he picked up a rice ball. "While you recharge, mind if you tell me what in the world is so interesting down in that library that keeps you down there night and day?"

"It's been a while since I could just sit down and do some real _research _out of books I haven't read before," Nessiah answered with a little smile. "I keep coming across things that are just fascinating. Even though Midgard is thousands of years behind Asgard technologically, humans can be so ingenious sometimes… they think of using things like magic in ways angels would never begin to consider. And there are also plenty of times when I find little things I haven't thought of since I was in my primary studies as an apprentice mage."

"Hard to think of you as an apprentice," Gulcasa put in with a laugh, appropriating another strip of bacon. "You're so self-assured you almost seem full of it."

"I was a prodigy," Nessiah said with as straight a face as he could manage, making sure he sounded as arrogantly matter-of-fact as possible. "My friends and I regularly worked magic that was beyond even the Valcyarium and the archangels, and of all of them, I was the best, even though I was the youngest."

"If you say so." Gulcasa just smiled. "Well, my precocious friend, just remember that genius or no, we kicked your ass pretty solidly on Ancardia. I guess it goes to show finesse isn't always everything, is it?"

The wound wasn't raw anymore, but it was still sore. Still, if Gulcasa was at the point where he could joke about that night, Nessiah wouldn't say anything about how the reminder of his losing the Gran Centurio had gone right to his heart and ripped. He just stayed silent for a moment—until he realized Gulcasa was going for the bacon again, at which point he gave his friend's hand a light slap and appropriated the last strips himself. "Mine."

"Well, jeez." But Gulcasa just withdrew the offending hand without taking anything. So he _had _noticed, at least to some degree. But he knew better than to bring it up, too—he could be so kind sometimes.

Nessiah had never had a chance, not really.

"So what's it been recently, anyway? You went back in at eight last night and didn't come out once until breakfast was supposed to be. You must've found something interesting."

Nessiah smiled and paused in savoring a bun filled with cherry jelly. "More nostalgic than interesting, really. I came across a book that talked about the pactio spell—and that's one I haven't seen since I was a kid. It's a simple enough spell, if a little obscure, a little archaic… you still find people using it every now and then, although it seems to have fallen out of popularity both here and in the heavens."

"Pactio?" Gulcasa repeated. "Not anything I've ever heard of—but then, not being any kind of magician myself, I doubt I'd know. What is it?"

"Pactio is…" Nessiah crossed his feet behind him pensively as he wondered how best to explain. "It's a contract spell between two people… a mage, called the magister or magistra, and a protector, referred to as the ministel or ministra. The protector is usually a warrior, although you can do it with anyone, even another magician if you like. It's a pact or vow that allows the ministel to receive the magister's magic to strengthen them, and in return, the ministel becomes obligated to protect his magister with his life. The ministel also receives a powerful magical item attuned to them according to their abilities, their hopes and dreams, and their own combat strength along with that of the magister. It's called an Artifact—and it's not too dissimilar from the principles of the ones I make, come to think of it.

"Anyway, a pactio is a very serious oath of commitment. Usually, if a mage is going to do one, he or she is allowed to make several different contracts in order to test which partner will work out best for them, although most dissolve the majority of theirs and solidify one pactio permanently. There are shortcomings and benefits to the system—and usually nowadays magicians who don't go into combat directly control summoned creatures to defend them, like a witch's golems or the reanimated corpses a necromancer uses. But the pactio spell was created at a time when there were a lot of mages who worked solo but didn't know how to defend themselves physically, which put them in a lot of danger. Having a partner sworn to protect them not only let them survive, but flourish."

Nessiah paused to finish his bun, and Gulcasa, who'd been listening intently up until now, nodded briefly, straightening up where he sat.

"We should do one."

Nessiah almost choked, and spent about half a minute coughing and struggling to breathe, smacking the side of his fist against his chest, before he could manage an incredulous stare and a red-faced demand of _"What?!"_

"Well, why not? You said yourself it's a simple spell—and I've promised you enough times that I'll protect you for you not to believe it," Gulcasa went on, nonplussed. "If something like this would help me look after you, then…" He shrugged. "I don't see any reason _not _to."

"There's a _very good reason _why we can't!"

"Oh, yeah?" Gulcasa's eyebrows went flat with irritation as he sat back in the chair and slowly, deliberately crossed his legs. "Name one."

"You didn't even let me _finish, _you fool!" Scarlet right up to his ears, Nessiah sat up on his knees, clenching one fist at his chest and waving his other arm. "If two people are going to pactio, that means they have to _kiss!"_

"Oh." Gulcasa blinked, his eyebrows arching so high they almost hit his hairline. "Well."

"Do you get it now?!"

"Still—that's not a big deal. I've kissed you before," Gulcasa pointed out.

"On the _forehead," _Nessiah retorted, all but twitching out of defiant mortification. "You can't half-ass a pactio, or it won't work right. Commitment, remember? You have to kiss your partner on the lips."

"Well. Still." Gulcasa just shrugged. "It's just a kiss. It's not a big deal."

"Kissing is _too _a big deal!"

"Okay, _now _you're just being childish." Gulcasa folded his arms. "I'm not even a magic-user, and _I _can see that the benefits of doing this pactio thing far outweigh any momentary embarrassments."

"So you're telling me you _want _to waste your first kiss on something like this?!" Nessiah demanded, figuring that if Gulcasa was going to be all sensible, he'd have to hit as low as possible to discourage him.

Predictably, Gulcasa went red, but he also glared. "If it means I might be able to protect you in situations I couldn't at times like this—then it doesn't matter! Besides—there are other good reasons, too. People are not happy with you forcibly recruiting souls to do your fighting for you—it's bad enough PR that we can't let you do it unless you absolutely have no other choice. That said, you have to rely on us to defend you—and that's hard for you now. If it's a contracted partnership, something you have a hand in, you can trust it."

"That's—" Smart, and sensible, and proof that Gulcasa knew Nessiah better than he would have thought. But _still—_

"Furthermore, I already know that fighting on my own power is getting to be dangerous for me and everyone around me. Combat instincts are one of the triggers for Brongaa's power, and I'm having a hard enough time keeping it together without going out of my way to court another takeover. If you could lend me _your _power, though, I could manage it. I'm vain enough, proud enough, that I don't intend on giving up defending my country and my loved ones with my own hands if there's any way I can do so."

"…" Nessiah hid his face in both hands. Gulcasa just wasn't going to hear _no _on this, was he?

"I have things to take care of now, but—Nessiah, meet me in the clearing after lunch… you know the one. I'm not letting you get out of this. You'll see I'm right soon enough."

With that, Gulcasa stood up and walked to the door in heavy steps, closing it behind him after he left.

_Gods, _Nessiah thought exhaustedly, as he considered the remains of the breakfast he'd suddenly lost his appetite for. _What in the world have I gotten myself into…?_

* * *

Nessiah was there at the appointed time—if only, he told himself, because if he didn't show, Gulcasa would likely track him down and _drag _him. One of the trappings of having dragon's blood, no matter how diluted with the generations of intermarriage with ordinary humans, seemed to be superhuman obstinacy.

During his downtime, he'd gone back into the library, dug out the book he'd found the spell in, and copied the simple glyph required for the pactio into the Revelation of the Gods. It was an _extremely _basic magic circle—a hexagram bounded within a double ring emblazoned with the twelve symbols of the astral zodiac. A child could perform the spell, as long as they could draw that circle—and many probably had, over the long ages of this world.

Gulcasa had been right—about everything. And maybe it was true that Nessiah was being a little childish about the whole thing. Still—just because he'd fallen didn't mean he had to actively pursue forbidden fruit.

_Even if it is all true… even if this would be a good thing… can I really do this? _Nessiah took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, putting a hand to his chest. _My heart won't stop pounding. I have to settle down, or I'm going to give myself away… and I decided a long time ago that I wasn't going to let something like this happen. I'm no good, and if Gulcasa won't let that get through his thick head, then I have to at least control myself so things don't—_

"Hey. Did I keep you waiting?"

Nessiah flinched, then turned to see that Gulcasa was heading towards him over the grass, apparently having crossed the thin border of trees that separated this place from the town while he was soliloquizing.

He stared for a moment, then shook his head. "N-no…"

"I'm glad." Gulcasa was silent until he and Nessiah were standing about arm's length apart. "…You know, I didn't think you were going to be here. I know I got a little… pushy before…"

"But you were right," Nessiah said very quietly. "I know I can't… just walk away when you had a logical point about everything you said. So…"

Very deliberately, he undid the leather straps that held the Revelation shut, held the book with one arm, and let it fall open to the page that held the copy of the pactio glyph. Nessiah stared at it for a moment, and then laid his hand over the deep violet ink he'd used for it, speaking one syllable of the High Language. He felt the answering pulse of the Revelation's innate magic, and the next moment the glyph was drawn in shimmering silver in the grass under their feet, a gentle wind of power spiraling up from it, tossing the skirts of Nessiah's robes and Gulcasa's long hair.

"The magic is unincanted and automatic, so it'll activate without either of us having to do anything but… fulfill the requirements," Nessiah went on in a small, shaky voice. "We just have to stand here, so… give me a moment to compose myself, first…"

"Al..right," Gulcasa agreed, the look on his face saying he didn't know whether to be amused, pitying, or worried.

Nessiah set the Revelation to the side, leaving it hanging obediently in the air as it did when it was busy channeling his magic and he wasn't holding it. Then, not caring that Gulcasa was standing there with that pathetic stare, he set a hand to his chest again and took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself as much as possible.

He'd just about gotten to the point where he was calm when the panic surged up again, and he whirled around, covering his face with both hands. _"I_ _can't do this—!"_

"Nessiah…"

"I just _can't! _It isn't _right! _I'm—and there are Yggdra's feelings to consider!—and you're already doing too much, and—and I just _can't, _because—! I can't do this, I can't do this, I _ca-a-a-a-an't…"_

"Nessiah. Look at me."

Taken aback, Nessiah hesitated, then turned halfway, only to have Gulcasa set one hand on his shoulder and the other on the side of his face, pulling the two of them together in a swift determined movement that Nessiah could never have stopped.

There was a moment when Nessiah went rigid with shock, his heart giving one hammering pulse in his chest and then stopping dead for a handful of seconds, where he almost tried to struggle free. But then the magic exploded between him and Gulcasa, pure and beautiful and bright, and as the force of the contract rocked through Nessiah's body, a small selfish honest voice deep, deep inside him said _yes._

Then all the resistance went out of him and he slumped against Gulcasa's chest, his hands weakly curling into his friend's hair, his face upturned and their lips still sealed together, his mind reeling. If his existence were erased from the world tomorrow—or if he continued to live until the end of time—this moment, this one moment, was what he wanted to carry with him until then.

There was a soft shimmering sound like a wind chime in the tiniest breeze, and the magic ebbed to nothing. Gulcasa shifted his hands to just below Nessiah's shoulders, and he gently eased the two of them apart.

Nessiah just stood where he was, undone, feeling horribly naked and vulnerable. He couldn't speak; he couldn't move. All he could do was breathe, and stare up at Gulcasa's soft eyes and lopsided smile.

"Sorry about that," Gulcasa murmured. "I was pretty sure you weren't going to… is all."

There was that shimmering sound again, and Nessiah noticed something fluttering to his left and held out a hand. The card that he'd known would be there fell into it.

"What's this thing?" Gulcasa asked, leaning in to get a better look and frowning down at it. "It has my picture on it…"

"It's… ah. This is the proof of the contract," Nessiah said absently. "Hold on a moment." Shifting his hold on the card, he tapped it with the first two fingers of his right hand and spoke the same sentence in the High Language he used to duplicate Tactics Cards. The card shimmered, then split into two. Nessiah selected the new one and held it out to Gulcasa, who accepted it hesitantly.

"This one is yours. Don't lose it. We should—go back into the town now; I need to clean up, so go on ahead without me… I'll teach you how to use this when I catch up."

"Alright." Gulcasa started to head off, stopped to look over his shoulder at Nessiah awkwardly, then continued forward again in a light jog.

Nessiah continued to stand where he was, slowly collecting the Revelation of the Gods and putting the pactio card between the pages like a bookmark, closing it and tucking it under his arm.

He'd have to dismantle the circle, and then cleanse the area just in case. The pactio formation had been a lot more powerful than he'd expected. Then he'd have to run to go find Gulcasa and tell him what he was supposed to do with his card, and probably how to read it, as well. But for now…

Nessiah slowly raised his free hand to his lips and settled it there, lightly resting pallid, shaking fingers over his face. He knew exactly what the path ahead of him entailed, but for whatever reason, his heart wouldn't stop trembling.

One warm tear slid from beneath his faceplate down his cheek, beneath the low arc of his hand, to drip onto the cover of the Revelation in a nearly inaudible splash.

**(tsuzuku)**


	2. First Kiss Magic, part 2

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Nessiah went ahead and took the extra time alone he knew he'd need to compose himself. He'd already made up his mind in the matter; that being the case, he couldn't let Gulcasa find out what forming that pactio had really done to him. So he indulged, and took his time with the cleanup, breathing deeply and reconstructing his calm façade piece by piece.

Once he was done dismantling the circle and erasing all traces of magical disturbance from the air, he gathered up the Revelation and headed through the trees to where the town buildings started again.

Gulcasa was half-sitting on the low brick wall that encircled the town perimeter, talking to the two dragon knights who'd been his bodyguards ever since he'd first become Emperor of Bronquia—Nessiah was pretty sure they'd declared themselves such at the first official audience after the coup d'état had ended, since they'd had their posts when he'd first arrived here… which had been long before Gulcasa was actually officially crowned. Even though Gulcasa was very capable of taking care of himself in battle, it eased everyone's mind for his guards to be there—because, after all, Nessiah couldn't be around to nag him into not neglecting his personal needs all the time, and neither could Gulcasa's three younger sisters. By wit and wile, the two knights mostly managed to keep Gulcasa under control.

At the moment, both of them were looking at Gulcasa's newly copied pactio card, discussing it back and forth with him. All three seemed suitably impressed. Nessiah just smiled; he'd known better than to think Gulcasa would be able to help showing the card off. As long as no one knew how the pactio had actually gone and how actually forming it had just ripped him apart, there was nothing wrong with other people hearing about their contract.

Gulcasa turned and noticed Nessiah was making his way towards them. "Ah—finally," he said. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to take all day."

"Well—I've never done one of these before, obviously, and I didn't have any records of the effects on the area… I honestly didn't think the spell was that powerful." Nessiah slowed his pace and halted an arm's length from the wall, fidgeting a little. "…I'm sorry."

Gulcasa apparently noticed that he wasn't apologizing for the length of his absence, and flushed a little. "What do you have to be sorry about? This wasn't your idea, and I pretty damn much forced you into it, didn't I?"

"But… by doing this, I've bound you to me permanently, and since I doubt you're the type to want to break it, you'll be stuck with me your entire life. So…"

Gulcasa shook his head and sighed, and his bodyguards exchanged amused, knowing looks. "God, Nessa. Do you really hate yourself that much, that you think no one would want that? This is something I chose; I've promised it somewhere near a hundred times already, and I'll keep saying it for as long as it takes until you understand… I'm no fair-weather friend, and I've made up my mind to protect you for as long as it's in my power to do so."

Ordinarily, Nessiah would've argued back, but either he wasn't half as composed as he'd thought, or it was just the use of his pet name that went right to his heart and completely debilitated his resistance. "…You're a fool," was all he said, smiling regretfully.

"One day you'll figure out that people value you for a reason, and that not everyone is an oath-breaker. Now get over here and teach me how to use this thing, will you?"

As no doubt Gulcasa had been expecting, Nessiah gave in, carefully climbing over the wall so he could sit on the same side as his new partner without snagging the skirts of his robes on the uneven bricks. "Alright—now, the concept of these cards isn't entirely different from the Tactics Cards you're already used to using. Those are also proof of a contract with another being, although they're one-way pacts that allow any user to borrow the power of that magical being in order to produce a generic spell effect."

"And those are all pacts you made with them, correct?" one of Gulcasa's knights asked. "It's a little hard to wrap your mind around… since we're still used to thinking of you as a slightly-more-than-ordinary human magician."

"I've had little more than time, and since I could usually just sit back and let Fantasinia do my work for me, all that time is a bore without challenges. Some of those contracts were harder to negotiate than others… believe me." If Nessiah had been able to roll his eyes, he would've; he instead settled for shaking his head.

Gulcasa gave him a considering look and took out his copy of the Genocide card. "…This conversation is getting a little surreal now. I know I'm rather an idiot for not realizing it before, but that means…"

Nessiah laughed. "Oh, yes. That was one of the more difficult ones, and for more reasons than one… I'll tell you the whole story some other time if you like, but the short version is that I made a great nuisance of myself, and Brongaa agreed to my terms as much to get rid of me as because he found the concept amusing. Anyway, pactio cards are different in that the contract goes both ways. As long as I have this card, I can supply you with my power, but you can use your copy to borrow my magic if I'm in a position where I can't do so. You can also evoke your Artifact on your own with this; otherwise I'd have to summon it for you."

"So… what do all these things written on here mean?" Gulcasa asked. "There are symbols in all the corners, and I don't understand the language the text in the middle is in. All I can read on here is my name."

"For the record, everything written on a pactio card is in Latin—it's a very old language that's very much dead, but it was the common tongue in the time the spell was created, so I can't do anything about that." Nessiah shook his head. "All these notes are parameters that define the properties and power level of the card, and essentially our contract as well.

"Take a look at the symbol on the bottom left corner, for starters."

Gulcasa did so. "It's a… circle with what looks like an arrow pointing out of it; beneath it, there's the word 'Mars'."

"This is your astral affinity," Nessiah explained. "It's a bright red star in the heavens, and it's generally seen as a symbol of fire and war. Suits you fairly well, doesn't it? Religions of the time worshipped the star Mars as a deity of battle. Astrology is a peculiar art, but according to this card here, you were born under the influence of Mars… meaning that it was in a potent position in the sky at the time of your birth."

"Well… that makes sense, I think. And the rest?"

"The 'XX' at the top left and bottom right corners is actually a number," Nessiah went on. "In Latin, numbers are written with letters—and yes, it's very impractical, which is why we use the separate characters for them nowadays. 'XX' means twenty… it's possible that the numerical value of this card is simply your age at the time the contract was formed."

"What about this thing here?" Gulcasa asked, pointing to the sphere in the upper right corner consisting of concentric rings of color.

"It's the color ranking—it's kind of a measure of the rarity and strength of the card. Yours is Prisma—in Common, I suppose the best way to explain it is that your 'color' is actually the full range of all seven prismatic colors, like a rainbow. That's the rarest and most powerful value there is."

"That's His Majesty for you," one of Gulcasa's bodyguards interjected. "Even in something no one can really control, he just can't settle for second best."

The statement—and the truth of it—surprised a laugh out of Nessiah, although Gulcasa just shook his head and gave his guards a weary look.

"As for the rest of what's written here… beneath your name, this is a direction and this just above it is your virtue."

"As in the seven cardinal virtues, from the Meria religion?" Gulcasa asked.

"They've been around for longer than that, but in essence yes. All of the seven virtues—courage, justice, love, wisdom, temperance, hope, and faith—are powerful determining factors in how the pactio contract can be executed, and because everyone is affiliated with one of them and they all have their merits, they're one of the things that make the pactio contract system so powerful."

"I can understand that," Gulcasa said with a nod. "Though, nowadays the virtue you call 'love' is usually read as 'charity'."

"At any rate, your virtue is Audacia—that's courage. And it fits you," Nessiah added with a smile. "When it comes to outright bravery, I don't think anyone can possibly hold a candle to you."

"Oh, stop." Gulcasa covered his face with his free hand, sounding embarrassed and aggrieved. "Don't flatter; it's not like you."

"Hmph." Nessiah fought back the smirk. "Going on—your directional value is translated as North… which also fits you. There's complicated traditional symbolism behind the directions, but they're also a bit literal.

"The only other thing here is this title right under your name. These are personalized to each person, and it's supposed to be a two-word phrase that characterizes you as closely as possible, within those constraints."

Gulcasa looked down at his card, then back at Nessiah. "It says… 'Draco Audacius'."

"'Brave Dragon'," Nessiah translated, smiling again. "In the picture of you here, you're shown holding a scythe… that's probably your Artifact. No one has any control over what kind of Artifact you get… it's determined by your power and mine, your aptitudes, and your expectations, hopes, and dreams for the future. I'll teach you how to try summoning it later. There _is _one benefit to having me as a partner rather than anyone else… ordinarily, there's no way to determine an Artifact's powers other than trial and error, but because I'm an artificer, I'll be able to tell what its powers are just by looking at it. If we ever went up against another magician with a contracted partner, that would work out to our benefit, too—nothing like knowing exactly what your opponent can do while they're still guessing about you.

"All in all, this is an extremely powerful card—but that shouldn't come as a surprise, because not only have you gone through years of combat and leadership training to rise to your birthright, but you're sealing Brongaa—capably, might I add, meaning both that you have his power to add to your own and that you're all the stronger for preventing his resurrection, however close that is. And I've ample power and training of my own, in addition to not being human. It may take you a while to be able to use all this power, because you're not used to using magic, but…"

At that moment, there was a deafening sound and a blast of light from the far end of the town, towards its gates—and an aftershock that swept past them with terrible force, almost causing Nessiah to lose his balance; Gulcasa reached out and pulled him in protectively, saving him the spill.

"What in the _hell _was that?" Gulcasa demanded when the noise subsided, glaring intensely towards its source.

"It—seemed to be some sort of explosion," Nessiah said, disoriented.

"Oniisama! _Oniisama! _We've got trouble!"

Pulling himself upright against Gulcasa's shoulder, Nessiah turned to see that his partner's younger sister Emilia was sprinting towards them down the cobbled road.

She had his scarlet hair, his golden eyes, and his good head for battle—as well as his wild courage. It was easy to tell with just one glance that Brongaa's blood ran as truly in her veins as it did in his—and that was why, despite the fact that she was six years younger than him, she was one of his most trusted and powerful generals… and the only one, other than Nessiah, to have survived the war with Fantasinia.

But Nessiah didn't think he'd ever seen her looking this frightened, this shell-shocked. She was a sweet girl, a good leader, and she considered it shameful to show any signs of fear in front of others.

"Emilia—what is it, what's happened?" Gulcasa rose, leaving Nessiah and his bodyguards where they were, and ran to his sister's side.

"We're being attacked," Emilia managed, bending almost double and struggling to catch her breath. "It's—a full two or three units, maybe a hundred soldiers in all… they've got mages with them, and ballistae, and a cannon on a cart… they're flying the Shorehold crest!"

_"Shorehold?" _Gulcasa repeated incredulously, going pale. "Those _bastards—_they sued for clemency after the revolution… they swore to submit peacefully to my rule…! Damn them! How could they have waited all this time to just turn on us like this?!"

"What's going on here?" Nessiah asked softly, turning towards Gulcasa's guards.

"Shorehold is one of our own fiefdoms… part of the aristocracy that flourished under the old Emperor and Ordene's control." The knight who'd answered named the former Fantasinian king, curling his lip around the name as though it tasted bad. "Most of the noble families sent their troops to aid the pretender to the throne during the revolution, and we defeated them soundly… once the coup was over, we would've dealt with Shorehold as well, but they surrendered. They've never liked the changes His Majesty implemented in this country, but they've abided by them. To have lain in wait for this long…"

"Luciana-nee and Aegina-nee are rallying the troops to fight back, but… we weren't expecting this. I don't know if we can…" Emilia finished, shaking her head.

Gulcasa swore. "Go back to the others, and do what you can to help them. As for you two—go saddle my Bella with her campaign tack. And ready my armor. If we can't deal with an attack like this, then…"

Once the three of them had left, Nessiah stood, giving Gulcasa a considering stare. He was still pale, and now that no one else was there to see, he'd put a hand to his chest and was regulating his breathing as if trying to steady himself.

"…Is it already that bad?" he asked softly.

Gulcasa let out a very terse breath. "…I don't know how long I can keep this up… my heart won't stop pounding, and my head's spinning… Usually he's quiet, but he's _screaming _for control, and it's giving me a headache… God…"

Nessiah's chest clenched, and he crossed the grass in soft steps to rest a hand on Gulcasa's shoulder. "Easy, now. Too much tension, and you'll break—you know that the more you worry, the worse your control gets. It's a little more sudden than I would've liked, but… let me be your strength for now. We'll take the battlefield, and we'll teach these scoundrels better than to reject your mercy."

Gulcasa looked down at him, surprised, then nodded, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "…Yes… yes, you're right. Alright. It wouldn't do to have my own people forget my capabilities, would it?"

Nessiah smiled back at him. "Now, that's more like it. That sounded a lot more like the you I used to know."

"I'm going to prepare—until I arrive, you're in command," Gulcasa instructed. "Out of everyone who's left, you've the best mind for strategy."

"But are you sure that's… really wise? There are people who still…"

"And those people will obey my sisters—who'll obey you if they know this is my order. Now, go on. I'm counting on you."

"…I won't let you down," Nessiah agreed at length. _Not this time._

* * *

The town gates, he noted with dismay as he approached them, were already in a state of complete and utter chaos.

Civilians were running back and forth in a panic as soldiers pushed past them to fill gaps in the defense, lining both sides of the low wall. Emilia, along with Gulcasa's other sisters Luciana and Aegina—twin swordswomen who were in actuality the illegitimate children of the former Fantasinian king, adopted into Gulcasa's family after their father had thrown them away—were at the gate itself, shouting out orders in between heated discussions amongst themselves. The attackers—and there weren't many—continued to push towards the town, with the cannon and ballistae firing periodic shots. Any shells that hit blew shrapnel into all the surrounding soldiers and dented the walls; if too many more landed, the place would be overrun.

It was definitely time someone took charge here.

Navigating through soldiers and townspeople, Nessiah made his way up towards Gulcasa's sisters—none of them seemed to notice his presence until he stopped a few paces away and called out to them, pitching his voice so he'd be heard.

"I'm assuming command here."

All three of them jumped; seeing him, Luciana bristled, glaring at him with suspicion. She'd never liked him much, and was one of those few who had yet to forgive him for betraying the Imperial Army during the war—particularly because he'd hurt Gulcasa by doing so. Nessiah didn't hold it against her normally; how could he, when he completely understood her feelings?

"What the hell are you talking about?! I'm not taking any orders from you!"

Of course, there were times it was an annoying inconvenience.

"Luciana…" Aegina put a hand on her twin's shoulder, tugging at the black silk wrapped around the right side of her face with her free hand.

"Gulcasa's orders. He's in charge once he gets here, but he says I'm to lead for as long as he's getting ready. If we can't cooperate, this town and all our forces are lost."

"Besides, it only makes sense that Nessiah's in command," Emilia pointed out. "Out of all of us, he kinda _is _the best strategist, you guys."

Nessiah flashed her a brief, appreciative smile. Sometimes it just took the young to show a little common sense… and it felt good that he still had a few supporters.

Luciana scowled and crossed her arms. "…If you order us to do anything stupid, I won't listen to you."

"Now, why would I ever do that?" Shaking his head and sighing, Nessiah did an awkward vault up to the top of the gate's arch, nearly overbalancing and slipping off once he reached it due to the weight of his chains. Irritated and embarrassed, he held out a hand and began to deliver his orders.

"All civilians still in the open, please retreat to the nearest fortified shelter. Soldiers who've finished preparations, join us at the gate. All knights and seasoned combat troops, brace the walls and hold back the enemy attack—Scarlet Riders, stay on standby. When I'm done here, take out the ballista armaments if at all possible; be careful of any archers. Is Commander Zilva here?"

"Yes," a soft voice replied from behind Nessiah, on the ground.

"Get the Special Forces in position to cover me, and snipe anyone you see aiming for me. I'm going to destroy the cannon."

"Understood."

Hearing his orders repeated through the cramped lines of soldiers, Nessiah relaxed just a hair. For a moment, he'd been worried that more people would follow Luciana's example and refuse his direction, but it seemed like the rest of the Imperial Army was more than happy to take orders from him.

That over with, Nessiah opened the Revelation of the Gods and scanned the battlefield. The Shorehold army seemed to have lax discipline and had broken their ranks; the knights in front of the gate and the swordsmen near them were holding them off with spear and blade, smiting anyone who ventured too close. These men had numbers, and the advantage of surprise, but whatever training they had didn't stand up to the extensive experience and the numerous bloody campaigns the Imperial Army had seen. Nessiah's soldiers had their pride, too; this wasn't the first time they'd raised their weapons to defend their country and their beloved Emperor, and they'd handily do so again if they had to.

But this town had no fixed weapon emplacements—no catapults, no ballistae, and certainly no cannons. It was badly fortified, as well. Perhaps it was time for Nessiah to look into forging a few more Ankhs to spread out across Bronquia, to allow any city, town, or village with mages to hold its own.

There seemed to be five or six ballistae—and luckily, they were the kind that could only fire spears and arrows forward. Emilia and her aerial division would have no problem removing their threat once the cannon was out of action.

And, still more luckily, there was only one cannon, and the men operating it either hadn't taken notice of Nessiah or didn't believe him to be a threat. (Where _had _these people been over the course of the war and Gulcasa's rule? Comatose?)

Taking a series of steady breaths, Nessiah held out his left hand before him, resting the fingers of his right over the fluttering pages of the Revelation. Power gathered to him, welling up from within his heart and drawing in from the surrounding air.

"Unus fulgor concidens noctem…" There it was—that freeing rush, the confidence, the feeling like he could do anything… the sensation of all the world being at his fingertips. "In mea manu ens inmicum edat!"

That power built, and surged, and Nessiah rose up and let it go.

_"Fulguratio Albicans!"_

White lightning roared from his open hand, slicing through the air to strike the gray-black cannon, melting the metal and causing all the unfired shells on the cart to combust. Enemy soldiers cried out and scurried back; there was a great sound of wings unfurling, and then Emilia and her troops were soaring out over the battlefield. The Imperial Army cheered, celebrating the first flight of their Scarlet Princess since her defeat at Drominos; Nessiah looked on wearily, swaying a little where he stood. It had been a while since he'd had to use combat spells of this power; he hadn't expected it to take so much out of him. Maybe he hadn't yet recovered as fully as he'd thought.

_Th-this is bad. I need to be able to give Gulcasa my magic, too…_

Nessiah jolted back to himself when he felt a firm arm encircle his waist, and he was swept back to the ground in a movement too swift for him to track.

"Wh… wha…" He turned to find himself staring up into Zilva's calm gaze.

"You were going to fall," she pointed out quietly, matter-of-factly. "Take more care, General. His Majesty will worry."

"Y-yes… thank you." Nessiah laid a hand to his forehead and leaned back against the solid brick of the wall, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. Zilva dipped him a shallow bow, then seemed to vanish, returning to the battle with superhuman speed.

Barely had he straightened back up when there was another, louder cheer: Gulcasa had finally arrived.

He was heading up the road at a stately pace, sitting astride his dragon in full battle armor—the ancestral red and gold baroque suit of armor that had been passed down the Imperial line since Brongaa had been sealed, which Gulcasa had at last grown into. Flanked by his bodyguards, he cut a truly impressive figure—one that had to cast fear into the hearts of his foes just as it uplifted the spirits of all who would fight at his side.

Just the sight of him had painful hope and belief soaring through Nessiah's chest, a reaction he tried to stifle. It was madness, he continued to try to convince himself, to allow a mortal man to affect him so… no matter what had passed between them.

As it was, he had to remember to act as though nothing was different. "No helmet?" he asked as Gulcasa joined the forces still waiting at the gate. "You're turning yourself into a nice arrow target that way, you know."

"Things must be going well, if you're in a good enough mood to tease," Gulcasa retorted. "And for the record, we haven't been able to forge a new one yet—my old one got killed beyond any hope of repair back at Flarewerk. It's enjoying the great armory in the sky right now."

Nessiah and the soldiers who'd heard all laughed. "Well, we've dealt with the artillery—these people are stubborn, but they haven't our experience in battle. Now that you're here, it'll be a rout. They can't face up to someone of your strength."

"That's what we're hoping, at least," Gulcasa said in a low tone. "I'm relying on you now, you know."

"I understand."

Gulcasa held up a hand, and split the air with the battle roar he'd perfected over the course of the war: _"All troops forward!"_

There was a resounding cheer, and the lines of soldiers who'd been holding the enemy at bay tore into them with a vengeance.

"So, are you ready for your first lesson on how to use a pactio?" Nessiah asked.

"It's as good a time as any," Gulcasa replied with a wry smile.

"Dismount—it'll probably be easier for you to fight on foot for now."

Gulcasa did so, patting his dragon's flank. With a playful snort, she went off to join the other soldiers in their charge—Nessiah didn't comment, as he'd seen her in action and knew she could do quite a bit of damage on her own.

"First, we'll call your Artifact—then I'll give you a boost. I can't really go into the battle myself, not like this… so I'll be right here, behind you. Alright?"

"These guys don't seem like much—but, yes, I understand. I am getting back on the horse here, so to speak… or the dragon, as it were."

Nessiah shook his head. "The summon spell is very simple; with the card, even a non-mage like you should have no trouble with it. Just hold the card out, and say 'Adeat'."

"If this doesn't work…" Gulcasa began, a long-suffering tone to his voice.

"It'll work."

"…I'm going to feel very stupid, but you're the magician here, not me. So." Sighing, Gulcasa held up his card, giving it a mildly skeptical look. "Adeat."

There was a brilliant flash, and the card vanished in a bright burst of light, a huge and heavy-looking scythe appearing in its place, spinning once before Gulcasa caught hold of it and held it level.

"Wah! I-I wasn't expecting—it really _did _work!"

"Would I lie to you at a time like this?" Nessiah scolded, looking at the summoned Artifact with approval. The scythe was just the right size and heft for Gulcasa; the length of the haft meant that it could easily be wielded from dragonback, as well. The blade was proudly curved, and rippled blue, the sign of perfect tempering; it was fixed to its long pole by means of some kind of precious stone that shone like glass and looked like amber or fire agate, but was probably stronger than either. At the base of the pole, a slim fabric tag fluttered in the slight breeze, making Nessiah smile—it was the Imperial flag in miniature.

"It—feels right," Gulcasa said at length, still staring at his new weapon. "I don't know if anything ever felt this right in my hands."

"It's called Flamma Imperia," Nessiah told him. "And I'll tell you what it can do later… right now, you have to go out and fight, so I'll lend you my magic. This might feel a bit strange, but it increases your physical power while simultaneously shielding your body from much of the damage you might ordinarily take while out fighting. I'm giving you six minutes—if it takes longer than that, pull back and let your men do the rest."

"Alright, then… I'm ready."

Nessiah opened the Revelation, which obediently opened to the page where he'd attached the master card for his and Gulcasa's pactio. "And when you're done… you can turn your Artifact back into the card by saying 'Abeat'. Remember it, alright?" Not waiting for an answer, he honed his focus inwards and placed both hands on the pages of his spellbook. "Sis mea pars per 360 secundas."

Gulcasa tensed where he stood, his eyes going wide, and arched forward onto his toes, gritting his teeth. "What the… what the hell _is _this?!"

"I'm sorry—I know it's probably uncomfortable… you're not used to using or channeling magic, so it can't be helped. But for the moment, you're faster, stronger… and you don't have to depend on any usurpers to your body to get things done. You've only got six minutes. Hurry."

Gulcasa gave him a hesitant stare, then shook his head and headed towards the battle, breaking into a run when he passed the gate.

Nessiah trailed him slowly, still holding the Revelation open, and leaned against the side of the gate itself in order to watch. The traitors' army had been pushed back quite a bit—enough that it would be safe for him there. When Gulcasa's soldiers saw him coming, they made way for him, and he hit his enemies like several dozen wolves on the fold. Even after all these months of recovery, all the time he hadn't lifted a weapon once, he was still at the top of his form—better, if possible, due to the extra defensive bonus Nessiah's magic was affording him. Swinging Flamma Imperia in broad circles, he cut a bloody swath through all who opposed him, and taking heart from his ferocity, his soldiers followed his example.

They'd be just fine without his help—which was just as well. A great deal of Nessiah's offensive reserve was being yanked out of him, fueling Gulcasa's forward push. It was disorienting to the level of being dizzying—similar to the sensation of rapidly losing blood, but without the pain. _Maybe six minutes was too much for a first attempt…? A lesser mage would lose consciousness—or at least their balance. And I'm not entirely sure I could keep mine if I didn't have something to lean on… I've spent too much time with book study rather than actually using any spells. I need to start actively practicing magic again, if this is going to work._

_I don't think I could even so much as light a candle, right now. Gulcasa's got everything I have… I'm not used to compensating for more than one person, is the problem… there's a way to fix this, but I can't find one right now. I just have to… rely on him. Him, and all the others. Though, with enemies this weak, I doubt that there's any way they wouldn't win._

Absently musing on possible forms of training, Nessiah turned his attention towards the melee ahead of him—now that Gulcasa had joined the battlefield, his commanders and his soldiers' morale had undergone a serious transformation, and they'd done for the majority of their opponents. Some were still trying to fight, but a few were already in full retreat, fleeing for their lives.

When the last of the stubborn ones fell, a great cheer rose from the bloodied field, and above it, Gulcasa's triumphant cry:

_"The day is ours!"_

"No… it's yours," Nessiah said softly. "A victory that's been months in the coming… and you deserve every second of it, Gulcasa. Every second. It's been so hard for you… after all…"

And as the pulse of magic from his body began to ebb, he settled against the brick, deciding that he should probably rest here for a moment, so that he wouldn't fall over when Gulcasa came back in.

* * *

The next thing Nessiah was consciously aware of was being scooped up into strong arms, and the awful jolt of disorientation that came with a sudden awakening.

"Idiot," Gulcasa's voice chided from just above him. "Don't sleep _there."_

"Wha—I—I wasn't—?!"

"Spare me. When I was done handing out orders for cleanup and turned around to try to see where you were, you were lying in front of the town gates, out cold."

"I was _not!" _Nessiah protested, absolutely mortified. "I was just—resting a bit, I was tired—"

"I was considering having someone bring cold water to hit you with, but decided that was too cruel. You woke up when I picked you up."

Now crimson with humiliation, Nessiah hooked his fingers around the edge of Gulcasa's broad pauldron and pulled himself up, glancing around. They were halfway across town, and it seemed as though Gulcasa was heading for the building where he and his sisters were staying for the time being.

"Don't fidget. I'll drop you," Gulcasa warned.

"I used a lot of magic—but not _that _much magic," Nessiah protested faintly. "There's no way I could have… I don't believe this."

"I'd say you just got tired, and then _sleep deprivation _did the rest," Gulcasa said poisonously. "You haven't gotten eight straight in weeks. I'm not surprised you fainted as soon as the battle was over. Hence, I'm putting you to bed, and you're staying there until I'm satisfied you've gotten enough rest that you won't keel over again."

"You're… _putting me…?" _Nessiah repeated, feeling his insides turn over.

"Mmyep. And no complaining—you're supposed to be the one out of us with the common sense. Sleep, and let me handle the rest."

Because there was nothing he could say to change Gulcasa's mind, Nessiah said nothing. He just let himself be carried through the house, up the stairs, and into Gulcasa's room, where he was dumped unceremoniously onto the turned-down sheets.

"Here." Removing his gauntlets and placing them on the chair in the corner, Gulcasa knelt at the side of the bed and very gently undid the ankle straps of Nessiah's sandals, taking them off for him.

There was little meaning to the gesture other than the thoughtfulness of a friend. Nessiah knew that. But the delicate brush of Gulcasa's fingertips against his sensitive skin still started that low, slow pull in his belly.

As usual, Gulcasa seemed entirely oblivious to what he was doing. Dropping Nessiah's sandals on the floor beside the bed, he pulled up the sheets and comforter to his friend's shoulders, giving them a pat to settle them.

"And now for that beauty sleep," Gulcasa said with a smile. "Have some good dreams, huh? I'll see you later." And off he went, closing the door behind him.

_Sleep, he says. I do not need _sleep, _I need a cold shower… and humans have yet to invent _that_ luxury. _Nessiah buried his face in his hands with a low moan. _A shower, and my sanity. I seem to have misplaced it again, and if this is going to work, I need it back. Badly._

Really, who had he been kidding by thinking all of his problems but the one had been taken care of when Queen Yggdra had sealed the Gran Centurio? As usual, it was just one thing after another in his life.

_…I'm in trouble._

**(tsuzuku)**


	3. Better Days

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Even though Midgard wasn't passing through an age of great wealth and separation between the classes, in most countries, there was at least some separation nonetheless. For the most part, nobility kept to the tasks and customs of nobility, and the social atmosphere such status entailed. The common people—from the middle class to the poor—engaged in trade and various types of work, and hated or loved the rulers above them while only seeing them at announcements of state and the lavish banquets nobility was wont to throw for its own vanity.

But these were not ordinary days, and Bronquia had in any case always been a little on the nonconformist side.

"Thank you so much for your time…" the townswoman said again with an anxious-looking smile as she boosted her young daughter up on her hip. "It means so much to us, though you shouldn't have wasted your precious hours with the likes of us, Majesty."

Gulcasa shook his long hair back and offhandedly wiped the sweat off his face. "Nonsense—_someone _had to help patch up that wall, and mine were the only hands that were free. It's my pleasure. I've been wanting to put my back into something for a while, anyways—if you've any further need for my help, just ask."

The woman looked as though she wanted to protest, but only smiled and thanked him again. In the recent battle against the Shorehold fief, one of the cannon's bombs had flown over the town wall, landing—and exploding—in the middle of the street; the shrapnel it had spewed had put several holes in this civilian's home. Gulcasa was familiar enough with her to have sought her out and volunteered his help when he'd heard about it while taking stock of the damage; she was the widow of one of his knights, and had three young children who were still too small to be more help than hindrance with a task of this magnitude.

While he _had _been lying about having nothing better to do, as the entire town was busy repairing what damage Shorehold had been able to inflict, Gulcasa hadn't lied about the fact that he was more than happy to help. He'd always been actively inclined, and had grown up performing strenuous work in order to survive. Now that it was no longer a necessity, Gulcasa enjoyed being able to gather the harvest with his people or assist with carpentry when he was free. He was young, he was athletic, and he had no intention of enjoying the soft existence most nobles did. Sitting around endlessly contemplating one's own wealth and greatness was probably boring, anyway.

Happily, there wouldn't be any shortage of physical work to be done here or elsewhere in Bronquia for quite some time.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that only a few months ago, Bronquia had lost a war—and lost it disastrously. Gulcasa had always thought that a defeated or conquered country would be at a continuous simmer of resentment and despair, a caldron spilling over with hatred—the way Bronquia had been when the old Fantasinian regime and its now-deceased King had had their claws into the land and the people. But the new Queen of Fantasinia, the seventeen-year-old Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz, was going to great lengths to aid Bronquia in rebuilding… and she didn't want to undermine Gulcasa's sovereignty in the least. Gulcasa wouldn't have believed it possible before he'd gotten to know the girl while they'd fought side by side, but she was genuinely remorseful for the damage she'd done and was determined to right her wrongs.

Bronquia was still free—and because of that, from the ashes of what might have been utter annihilation, a powerful hope had risen. People were motivated, and they were taking pride in their reconstruction.

All that besides, Gulcasa's _personal _life was anything but structured right now. It had never been structured, and he had serious doubts that it would ever be. No man who lived in the care of three younger sisters—interfering, jealous, constantly underfoot, well-meaning sisters (who all happened to adore him)—and a reclusive, cryptic (and often caustic) fallen angel could ever rest easy.

As it was, Gulcasa had left Luciana, Aegina, and Emilia to the not-quite-mansion they currently resided in (and God, he hoped it was still standing) and he had no idea where Nessiah had wandered off to, although the library was high on the list of suspected hiding places. And since he'd completed his project of the morning (repairing the townswoman's home), it was well past time he took an hour or so to relax.

Navigating the town streets and cheerful subjects who recognized him handily—despite the sweat, dirt, and increasingly battered ordinary clothes he was wearing—and who all wanted to say hello, Gulcasa managed to make it to the stables and slip inside. None of his knights were around, and so all the dragons stopped whatever had been occupying them in their pens to see who'd come to visit.

Finding himself greeted by roughly two dozen pairs of bright yellow and gold eyes and a rousing chorus of welcoming squeaks, Gulcasa laughed and passed down the lines slowly, giving each dragon a pat and a low murmur as he headed to the very last stall.

Domesticated dragons were a rarity anywhere other than Bronquia. Unless you knew how to handle them or you yourself happened to have dragon's blood, you were quite likely to get savaged if you were foolish enough to pester a wild land drake. Taught that humans were their partners and not their chew toys, Gulcasa's small and highly intelligent cousins were affectionate, playful, and gentle—and deadly when ridden into combat. As one of the last of Brongaa's bloodline, Gulcasa had a natural gift with dragons, and tried to spend as much time with those he trained as his responsibilities allowed him.

There, at the end of the row, was his Bella—the dragon he'd worked with since he'd hired on with the old Imperial regime in his mid-teens. Where many of the others stabled here were deep blue or green, her warm scales were as red as his hair, and his records of her bloodlines purported that they really _were _very, _very _distantly related—an ancestor of hers had crossed with a wind drake whose line crossed even further back with Brongaa. Whether that was true or not, she'd claimed him as _her _human very early off, and ever since, they'd been a team.

To seal it, Gulcasa had been the one to give her a name—he'd chosen "Bella" because while the word meant "beauty" in the predecessor to Common, in the ancient high languages, it also meant "war".

Whereas most of the other dragons had been more than happy to make a fuss over Gulcasa's entrance and pester him for a moment of attention, Bella greeted him by resting her red muzzle over the top of the door to her pen and giving her human a reproachful snort, regarding him with teasing eyes.

"You," Gulcasa informed her as he undid the latch, "are getting way too used to getting let out to wreak havoc as you please. I may now list among my complaints about this damn war that it's gotten you spoiled."

As she awkwardly pushed into the straw-strewn hall, Bella protested that he only let her out to wreak havoc in the first place because she was _good _at it, and weren't you _supposed _to enjoy things you were good at?

Gulcasa just shook his head at her, running his hand over the long arch of her neck. "You and your common sense. Between you and Nessiah, I never seem able to escape the logic."

Bella switched her tail, butted her muzzle into his chest, and reminded him pointedly that while Nessiah required a great deal of looking after, _she _did not. He should listen to her more often.

"…I just can't win. Emperor or no, I'll be harangued by strong-willed women until the day I die, won't I…"

He saw—actually _saw—_her biting back the sharp retort that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. And instead, gave him a good shove towards the door, because she wanted her exercise.

Over-exaggerating a sigh for her benefit, Gulcasa pulled it open, stood to the side to let her exit, then swung up onto her back in an effortless movement.

The two of them headed up over the hills to overlook the town, Gulcasa taking in the bustle of reconstruction and the battle-scarred ground just outside the gates. The places where grass had been torn away still seemed rust-stained, and there were a few broken weapons and banners still scattered across the churned earth.

Too much of Bronquia looked like this now. The soil would heal; in a year or two, grass would grow back. Still, something inside him ached to see his beautiful country wounded so.

But it could've been a lot worse. He and the remains of his army had obliterated their attackers, and they had suffered no casualties. There were injuries—one or two of them serious—but, thank God, none of theirs had died.

As for the Shorehold army—well. Gulcasa had ordered that the dead be gathered up, searched for proof of identification, and burned. He'd taken the list of their names with him when he had led his knights and his sisters' troops marching up to Shorehold's door, punching through what defenses were left to let the fiefdom's lord know that he would brook no such nonsense in the future. He'd left the list as a parting gift of sorts.

It hadn't come down to a fight, for which Gulcasa was grateful—just the adrenaline rush of the charge and assuming command the way he had while fully dressed for combat had had Brongaa stirring, a heavy and painful uncoiling in his chest, spreading with it ice and terror. If he'd been able to, he would've brought Nessiah, but it would've been cruel beyond measure to drag the mage into it—he'd still been sleeping off the battle rush at the time, recovering his magic and catching up on all the rest he hadn't gotten with his constant research.

But the Shorehold issue hadn't been able to wait, and so he'd gone anyway and risked it. It had been stupid, but he hadn't seen any way around it.

"And we're going to have to tell Fantasinia all about it when we head off there next week," Gulcasa said aloud, shaking his head. "About which Yggdra will no doubt be very happy."

Bella was getting impatient for that trip. She liked Yggdra; the Queen smelled good and didn't squeak when dragons got close to her. She wanted it to be time to _go _already.

Gulcasa laughed a little, pushed his hair back, and tried to ignore the way his face burned. "…You and me both."

* * *

After spending roughly an hour letting Bella run around and do as she pleased, Gulcasa reined her in and took her back to the stables. While he would've liked little better than to continue playing with her and keeping her entertained all day, he _did _have other priorities to take care of.

The most demanding of which, instead of going back to help with repairs again, was finding Nessiah and figuring out where he'd been all day. He'd skipped breakfast _and_ lunch _(again)_ and Gulcasa hadn't seen him since last night, which made him worry. As Bella had pointed out, Nessiah certainly _did _take an awful lot of looking after.

Which, considering the age difference, was just a little bit on the pathetic side.

Dodging carts carrying wood and other reconstruction supplies, Gulcasa made his way down the streets to the library. Since it was on the opposite side of town from the gate it hadn't taken any damage in the attack, which was a good thing—for more reasons than one. If it had been unstable at all, Gulcasa would've done his best to prevent Nessiah from going back down there, which would've led to an argument… and Nessiah tended to win most of their arguments.

Well. _Most_ of them. Gulcasa had gotten the better of him concerning their contract, but that was the exception, not the rule.

Carefully, Gulcasa pushed through the heavy doors and headed down the stairs. It was _dark _down here, never mind that it was midday. The tiny lights on the walls did a bad job of illuminating the huge chamber, and since there were no vents to above, there was no way of telling what time it was. It was easy to tell how Nessiah constantly lost track down here.

And there, right smack in the middle of the central row of shelves, was his research table. Nessiah didn't seem to be sitting at it, though, even though there were stacks of books, open tomes, and loose-leaf paper all over it. Frowning, Gulcasa headed over to it in quick strides—and shook his head at what he saw, smiling crookedly.

Nessiah was curled up in the corner formed by the junction of the loveseat's cushioned arm and back. Judging by the way he was snuggled back into the plush padding to either side of him as closely as he could without hitting the wood underneath and that he was currently in a fetal position, hugging his spellbook to his chest, he'd been that way for a while—probably hours. Gulcasa supposed he'd gotten a little tired, decided to lie down, and had been solidly out ever since.

_I should probably just leave him alone._ It would be cruel to disturb someone sleeping so soundly, wouldn't it? Besides, it was hard to interfere with a sight like this. While he wasn't awake, assuming his world-weary airs and tainting almost every situation he saw with the negativity and pessimism he'd picked up over his long life, Nessiah reverted to the child he must've been before he'd been exiled from the heavens.

Still, sleeping in a place like this wasn't healthy for an ordinary human—or an angel. Even though it didn't bother him—by virtue of his dragon's blood—Gulcasa could still tell that it was cold down here, and Nessiah's clothes were thin and had taken a lot of abuse through all their years. Nessiah had a frail constitution, and if he were to be left down here, he'd probably end up getting sick. Which would make him, Gulcasa, and everyone else near them very, very miserable for a very, very long time.

Besides, then Nessiah wouldn't be able to come with him to Karona and Paltina, and that would unleash all holy hell. He wasn't obvious about it, but Gulcasa knew Nessiah was looking forward to being with Kylier again.

He'd just have to be careful and pray that Nessiah was deep under. If he was tired enough, this wouldn't wake him up.

In slow, gentle movements, Gulcasa padded to the other side of the loveseat, kneeling down and very carefully sliding his hands, then his arms beneath Nessiah's body. The fallen angel didn't stir. Taking a deep breath and mentally crossing his fingers, Gulcasa hesitantly lifted Nessiah from his makeshift nest and held his friend close to his body.

Nessiah's only reaction was to shift briefly, turning in towards Gulcasa's body heat, and sleep on, utterly undisturbed.

"…" Gulcasa wanted badly to loudly inform the mage that he was hopeless, but if he did that he probably _would _wake Nessiah up, and then he'd get the third degree about it.

_Jeez, is he small. _When had Nessiah gotten this tiny? Gulcasa had done his fair share of carrying people in his lifetime, and they all seemed to spill out of his arms or down his back in an awkward tangle of limbs and protests, but Nessiah was curled against him perfectly, just the right size for being scooped up. He _knew _that Nessiah was short, but—it was so weird having that brought home in a way that made him feel so protective so suddenly.

Although—he'd been feeling like that a lot recently. Maybe it was a side effect of the pactio spell… Gulcasa would have to ask Nessiah about it whenever he woke up.

On that note, Gulcasa put the matter out of his mind. He had a potentially volatile situation on his hands—literally—and he had to get Nessiah put down somewhere conducive to his health before the sleeping angel woke up and the whole thing went to hell.

Making sure to keep all his movements even, Gulcasa crossed the library back to the door, which he leaned against to push it open, then picked his way through crowds that hushed a little as he passed, obviously seeing what he was trying to do. Grateful for their support, he slipped into his family's temporary residence, then drifted up the stairs and into his room.

Nessiah had his own room here, too, but the place was barely furnished, and the fallen angel himself spent so little time there, it didn't seem as though there was much point in putting anything but the bare minimum there. Hence, Gulcasa didn't consider Nessiah's room an option. As cruel as it would be to wake Nessiah up, it would be worse to leave him in that pitiful excuse for a bed.

_Why does he always seem to end up in _my _bed, though?_ Gulcasa thought to himself, shaking his head at his own rumpled, tossed-down sheets—which were exactly as they'd been when he'd left the room. Sighing and resigning himself, he gently settled Nessiah and turned to leave.

And was stopped by a fierce tug on his shirt.

Gulcasa stood very still, turned, and stared. Somehow or other, Nessiah had gotten hold of him along the ride, and he wasn't letting go—he still seemed to be asleep (though the only way Gulcasa could guess was that if Nessiah had awakened, he would probably be sitting up and either yelling at Gulcasa for moving him or getting all embarrassed and mad that he'd been carried around again), but he was gripping Gulcasa's shirt so tightly his knuckles were dead white.

"…" Nessiah shivered and curled tighter where he lay, his entire body tense.

Carefully, Gulcasa tried to extricate Nessiah's fingers from his clothing; the sleeping angel stubbornly held on even tighter, his breathing sharpening as he did so.

_…A nightmare?_ Gulcasa wondered silently. With a sigh, he stepped closer to the side of the bed and bent down.

"It's alright," he said in as loud a whisper as he dared, running a hand over Nessiah's soft hair and then down his shoulder and side. "You're alright. Just relax."

Either the sound of his voice or his touch seemed to soothe Nessiah—he stopped shaking, and his death grip loosened just enough for Gulcasa to delicately tug his shirt out of his friend's hand. Heaving a quiet sigh, Gulcasa drew the sheets and comforter up, then tiptoed out of the room and shut the door.

"Thank God," he muttered as he headed back down the stairs. And was instantly greeted with pandemonium.

_"NOOOO!_ I _said _I don't **need** one!"

"You look and _smell _like you've been rolling around in a pigsty all day! Get back here!"

"Nuh-_uh! _I had a bath already this morning! I don't need to take another one 'til tomorrow!"

"Emili_aaaaaaaaaa!"_

"…" Gulcasa stopped on the bottom step and stared into the wide main hall. To the vast amusement of the attendants who were watching, Luciana and Aegina were chasing Emilia up and down across the floor, and not having much success in catching her—Emilia was smaller, lighter, and faster by far.

He may not have known how in the world this had gotten started, but Luciana looked like she was going to blow a blood vessel, and if Emilia wasn't dirty or sweaty in some degree already, she'd probably gotten to be enough by now that she would need a good soak anyway. Besides, if the three of them kept it up, they'd wake Nessiah, and all Gulcasa's hard work would be for nothing. Shaking his head at younger sisters in general and all the follies they could come up with, Gulcasa walked into the middle of the hall and stood, planting his hands on his hips and waiting.

It didn't take long at all: Emilia, too busy paying attention to where Luciana and Aegina were to watch out in front of her, smacked full into her older brother—and would've bowled him over if he hadn't been ready for it. Dizzily, she backed up, a hand over her face, then noticed him and flinched.

Gulcasa raised an eyebrow at her. "…What in the bloody hell are you all doing?"

Emilia put on her most babyish pout and pointed behind her. "Oniisama! Tell Luciana-nee and Aegina-nee that I so do _not _need another bath!"

"Yes… she… does…," Luciana panted, hunched over with her hands on her knees, looking up to glare at her adoptive siblings.

"She's been… out in the sun… working and… playing with the griffons… all day," Aegina continued for her twin, straightening up but keeping a hand to her chest as she tried to regain her breath.

"Really," Gulcasa stated, staring down at Emilia mildly.

"I do _not! _I just _took _a bath! I am not dirty at all!" Emilia protested very loudly.

Who precisely she thought she was fooling, Gulcasa wasn't sure. Emilia's chest and sides were drenched with sweat, and her hair was tangled and listless, flying off in every possible direction. Smudges of mud and grit stained her long shirt and breeches at the knees, and there was crusted grime all over her new boots.

Gulcasa shook his head and turned towards the attendants. "Hey—have water drawn up in the bath out back, if you wouldn't mind." They bowed, then vanished into the halls, hurrying to carry out his orders.

"Aghhh! Oniisama, _why-y-y-y-y-yy? _I don't _need—"_ Emilia whined.

"Are you really a fourteen-year-old girl?" Gulcasa asked, cutting her off. "Going around looking like a wagon wreck isn't very ladylike, is it?"

"What do _you _know about being _ladylike?!"_

"…Suit yourself," Gulcasa said with a shrug, then took a swift stride forward, reaching out and putting his arm around Emilia's waist, hoisting her up and holding her tucked under his arm. "If you're going to act like you're two, I guess I'll just have to _bathe _you like you're two."

_"Whaaaaaaaaaat?!"_ Emilia shrieked at the top of her lungs, kicking the air violently. "Put me down! I can take a bath by myself! I'm not a _baby!"_

"Then act more mature. You can't have it both ways. Now quiet down, will you?"

"I'M NOT GONNA!"

Gulcasa glared at his viciously sulking sister. "Seriously, Emilia. I _just _put Nessiah to bed five minutes ago—not even—and you're going to wake him up if you don't—"

"…mngh."

It was amazing, just how quickly one low, sleepy, incoherent protest could silence an entire room. Gulcasa's first instinct was to face-fault right into the carpet. He badly wanted to scream. He did neither; instead, he turned towards the stairs where Nessiah had just wandered onto the scene… and barely choked back a burst of sidesplitting laughter.

As it was, he couldn't help the snort and badly stifled chuckle that escaped.

_"What."_ Nessiah demanded it in as harsh a tone he could manage.

"Ye _gods, _just look in a _mirror!"_ Gulcasa exclaimed, bent nearly double laughing.

Nessiah had somehow gotten out of his overrobe and apparently left it behind; his underrobe was askew and twisted so that one of the soft shoulder pieces was hanging halfway to his elbow, and the other was folded and scrunched at the delicate side of his throat. Worse, his hair was disheveled and fluffed out in every direction, his bangs actually caught in his faceplate and chains in a few places. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

An angry flush rose to Nessiah's ivory cheeks, and he straightened his stance, planting his feet shoulder-width as he slammed one hand onto his hip and gestured obscenely with his free arm and hand. His posture was so masculine, so completely incongruous with his recently-deflowered-princess appearance, that it just made Gulcasa laugh harder (even as Emilia let out an appreciative squeal at finally witnessing someone flipping the proverbial bird from under her brother's arm).

"You—" Nessiah began furiously, but when he started forward, he misjudged the distance and stumbled down the rest of the stairs, clinging to the post at the end of the railing dizzily.

Straightening up with an effort, Gulcasa took pity on his friend and straightened his collar with his free hand, then gently teased his hair into order. "We _really _have to do something about your sleep schedule, Nessa. You can't stay up for practically a month straight, then crash for a week like this. Not anymore. It's not healthy, and you're not going to be able to do much visiting in Fantasinia if you can't stay awake for it."

"Shut up and stop making sense," Nessiah moaned into the crook of his arm and his tangled chains, hiding his face. _"Emilia-a-a-a, _make your brother stop making sense."

"Just go back to sleep for now or something. As for _you—"_ Gulcasa cast a jaundiced eye on Emilia, who forgot her glee at Nessiah's unflinching use of profanity and sulked up at him. "You're getting naked, and you're getting a bath. And no whining. If you wanted to get clean by yourself, you should've done it on your own." Cutting off her protest before she made it, Gulcasa turned to Luciana and Aegina. "And haven't you two got laundry to hang?"

The twins made faces and headed off to complete the chore they'd abandoned in favor of harassing their younger sister. Gulcasa hauled the vehemently protesting Emilia outside, towards the stone bath just behind the big building. Nessiah, still looking sleepy enough to keel over any second, followed.

While Luciana and Aegina busied themselves tying the clothesline and Nessiah curled up indiscriminately at the base of the nearest tree—and was asleep again in record time—Gulcasa carried Emilia to the wide stone basin that served as their bath, wrestled her out of her clothes despite her _very _loud protests, and dropped her unceremoniously into the water.

"You totally _suck," _Emilia seethed, her face as red as her hair, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

"Well, at least _I _can stay _clean," _Gulcasa retorted, grabbed the bucket, and scooped water over Emilia's head to soak her long hair. Emilia squealed.

"That's _cooooold!"_

"Too bad! It's not like we've got the convenience of a fire beneath this thing to cook you with." Shaking his head, Gulcasa grabbed the block of soap, dunked it a few times and lathered his hands with it, then let it float off and started vigorously washing his sister's hair.

"OWWWW! Stop _pulling! _I can wash my hair by _myself!"_ Emilia shrieked. Clearly, she was intent on making this as unpleasant as possible.

"Oh, please. You'd just wet down the top and then _say_ you were done. If you wanna keep your hair this long, you're going to have to take better care of it."

"You are _so-o-o-o-o-o-o-o _not cutting my hair," Emilia said in a dangerous tone, whirling around so fast she sloshed water all over her brother.

"Then wash it better. And if you want to prove you're competent and don't need me to do this for you every day, get that soap and put it to good use. I'm not gonna hold you still and scrub you down like I have to with Bella if I can help it."

Emilia crossed her arms a little tighter, glaring at him suspiciously, then sunk down so that she was in the water up to her chin before grabbing at the soap.

Gulcasa shook his head at her. "And I don't really get why you do that, when there's barely anything there to be protective of."

Emilia squealed in fury, and as soon as she got the soap, she threw it wildly at Gulcasa, smacking him full in the forehead.

"Bweh—" Gulcasa shut his eyes and hastily scrubbed the back of his bandaged forearm across his forehead, mopping up the soap and water before it could trickle into his face. Once he was sure he had it all, he opened his eyes again and favored Emilia with his most ferocious glower. "Oh, it's on _now, _you little squirt!"

The two of them struggled briefly back and forth, Emilia splashing as much water at her brother as she could manage while Gulcasa tried as hard as he could to dunk her completely. The stone bath was barely big enough to fit two or three people standing in a line, but it was very deep, and the attendants had filled it almost to the top. Hence, when Gulcasa finally _did _succeed in submerging Emilia, she sloshed out a great deal of soapy water when she surfaced, and sent it a great distance.

There was an earsplitting shriek from behind Gulcasa that made both of them freeze. Very slowly, Gulcasa turned to look, and felt his insides sink a little.

He and Emilia had completely forgotten that Nessiah was so close. That last splash had sent water well beyond the confines of the tub and their mock battle, and Nessiah, the tree behind him, and all the ground between were completely drenched.

Nessiah was standing there dripping, his thin underrobe plastered to his body, a vein standing out in his cheek and his fingers twitching, trembling so violently with badly suppressed wrath that his chains were jangling. He just stood there, apparently too incensed even to make a sound, for a few more moments—and then he held out his right hand furiously, stretching out his fingers so fully that Gulcasa was almost afraid he'd dislocate one or more of them.

"Ex somno existat, exundans Undina, inimicum immergrat in alveum…" Nessiah said rapidly and vindictively, then gestured broadly. _**"Vinctus Aquarius!"**_

Water swirled up from the ground beneath him, blasting in a powerful stream over Gulcasa and Emilia, drenching the former from head to foot and getting the latter even wetter. Gulcasa coughed, shook his head a little, and stared helplessly as Nessiah calmly rolled up the skirts of his underrobe to just above the middle of his thighs, pulling the fabric out to one side to wring some of the water out of it. Something about the motion—maybe it was Nessiah's forcedly nonchalant demeanor, or his scowl… or maybe it was the thin rivulets of water coursing over his small shoulders and down the contours of his slender legs—caught Gulcasa's attention. As he watched, unable to look away, he realized suddenly that Nessiah's soaked clothes clung very closely against his skin—and that, sodden as they were, they were almost translucent, so that Gulcasa caught the impression of Nessiah's body just behind the thin fabric.

The next moment, Nessiah let his wet skirts fall, then turned decisively on his heel and marched back inside with a little "hmph".

"…uhh…" Emilia laughed a little. "I, uh… I guess we maybe overdid it…?"

"Maybe a little," Gulcasa replied, shaking his head bewilderedly.

As she threw a blanket over the line, Aegina giggled.

* * *

That was the last Gulcasa saw of Nessiah all day.

It was really only to be expected—he'd been pretty angry, and as amply proved by his history here in the human world, Nessiah wasn't exactly the type who let things die. Gulcasa knew he'd probably be getting the cold shoulder for a while.

It didn't stop him from worrying. If Nessiah had gone back down to the library before drying off properly—well, there went all his hard work in trying to get the stubborn little magician to stay warm and healthy, at least until they left for Fantasinia. At least then Kylier would be taking some of the load of Keeping Nessiah Out Of Trouble off his shoulders—and thank God for that.

_How's this partner thing supposed to work out anyway if all we do is keep tripping over each other's egos at the worst possible times…?_ Gulcasa wondered defeatedly, trailing up the stairs to his room to get some well-deserved sleep of his own. _We can't even practice fighting with the cards, because Nessiah's been sleeping so much. Was I wrong, thinking this was really going to help us—and our relationship?_

Opening the door, Gulcasa saw. And stared, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, for… not _again…"_

Nessiah was occupying the side of the bed Gulcasa always dumped him on, apparently curled up tightly beneath the covers, entirely dead to the waking world.

_"I _don't even sleep this much—and I'm fueling another soul, along with my own body. This is _pathetic,"_ Gulcasa complained to no one in particular.

Nessiah stirred beneath the sheets and resettled, still asleep.

"…Tch…" Well, it could be worse. Nessiah could be spending another night down in the library, after all. Which he wasn't. But _still… _"Why's it _always_ **my** bed?!"

Because the only other option was to throw Nessiah out of the room and make him that much more resentful, Gulcasa threw up his hands in defeat and took off his boots and shirt, then turned down the covers on his side of the bed. And froze, staring.

Catching himself, Gulcasa shook his head and glanced quickly around the room. There—Nessiah's mostly-dry underrobe was hanging over the back of a chair, with his overrobe pooled beneath it and his spellbook and sandals cast off nearby. Well, of course. He'd probably come up here right after the incident this afternoon, and been asleep since.

Carefully sitting down on his side of the mattress, Gulcasa stared long and soberly at Nessiah's naked back—or more properly, at the ancient scars that still traced dark and livid across his too-pale skin. He was so self-conscious of them that normally Gulcasa never got more than a glimpse here or there, and though he was familiar enough with the wounds that had ruined Nessiah's eyes—which were worse by far—it spread a cold pall across his soul to see what Nessiah mockingly referred to as his just punishment.

"But you know just as well as I do that it wasn't _just_ at all," Gulcasa said very softly. "How young were you, Nessiah? You act so jaded, but there are times… your façade slips more than you think it does. That something like this could be done to a child… it makes me sick to think about it."

He sat silently for a while, then swung his legs up over the mattress and lay down, still watching his partner's scars shift as he breathed.

"I swear on my life and the honor of my bloodline that no one will _ever_ hurt you like this again. So help me, I'm going to find a way to take care of you… and not even you can convince me that I shouldn't."

Satisfied with that, Gulcasa turned his back to Nessiah, reached out to the bedside table, and turned down the lamp.

**(tsuzuku)**


	4. stranger than your

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

There'd been more than a fair share of naysayers over the course of things. The countries of Fantasinia and Bronquia had been enemies for so long, after all—they'd been waging wars off and on ever since Bronquia had risen, when Brongaa had fallen. After all that Fantasinia had done to Bronquia over the years—especially after this, one of the very bloodiest of wars the two countries had ever waged—how could that ever change?

Even if the new Fantasinian queen had called off the open violence after she'd had to get her feet wet, surely her nice mask would come off one of these days, wouldn't it? The rulers of Fantasinia never seemed to change that overbearingly righteous mindset of theirs, after all.

Except that as the days and weeks and months passed, it never did. And up until winter had hit, financial assistance had come pouring in from the Kingdom's coffers, along with discounts as Bronquia had bought the supplies they needed to rebuild during the new year. Besides, the Emperor himself—who had more reason to hate Fantasinia than most—had never doubted the new queen's words, and had formed a cease-fire treaty with her to cut off the hostilities shortly after the war's end.

And so, almost everyone in the country had more or less accepted the idea that this was different from the other times—peace was here to stay, and Fantasinia finally had a ruler who _wasn't _evil incarnate.

There were a few, though, who were slower to grasp that concept than others.

"I swear I'll kill that little bitch if Gulcasa-nii comes back with even so much as a _scratch _on him," Luciana growled, glowering at her brother where he stood with Nessiah, Zilva, and his two bodyguards on the other side of the room.

"Luciana…" Aegina was holding up both hands meekly in attempt to calm her twin down, that awkward little smile on her face.

"HMPH."

As Luciana turned and sulked, Aegina sighed, her shoulders slumping, and turned to where their younger sister Emilia was sitting and watching, giving her a long-suffering stare. Emilia rolled her eyes and grinned back, kicking her feet in the air.

It had been a little more than a week since the Shorehold fief had attacked, and now that the town was mostly back in order, Gulcasa was getting ready to head south to the castle town of Karona. A long time ago, Karona had been the capital of an independent country, but no nation that small could stand a chance when caught between two angry and powerful armies determined to wipe each other out. Most of the old country was now Fantasinian territory, and the castle of Karona itself was one of Fantasinia's strongest fortresses, sitting just south of the border between Fantasinia and Bronquia. It was barely a stone's throw away from Ishnad, the fortress that guarded the gap in the Valendart mountain range, which was the only way for Fantasinia to enter Bronquia. Baldus, the old man who'd served as mentor and foster father to Aegina, her sisters, and her adopted brother, had hailed from the mountain city, and had defended it to his last breath. Even so soon after the end of the war, he was being hailed as one of their country's finest heroes.

There were a _lot _of reasons for them to hate Fantasinia. But Aegina had discovered that it was pretty hard to maintain hatred of someone who was genuinely sorry for what she'd done.

Luciana, though… regardless of how she was or wasn't feeling, Aegina's sister was doing her damnedest to openly despise Queen Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz until one or the other of them died.

"Aw, come on, Luciana-nee," Emilia piped from her seat, smiling reasonably. "Yggdra's not _that _bad, y'know."

Luciana whipped around, glaring daggers at her adopted sister with icy eyes.

Emilia was not fazed. She simply shrugged and crossed her arms behind her head, leaning against the wall. "If it weren't for Yggdra, all of us and Oniisama would be dead right now. You don't have to _like _her, but you _do _have to give her that much."

Although this wasn't the first time Emilia had pointed this out to Luciana, she narrowed her eyes and whirled with a huff, stomping away as though deathly offended.

Aegina groaned. Luciana made an art out of grudges, and although Aegina understood better than anyone how her twin felt about the matter, she still knew that Emilia was right. She also knew that Luciana would probably feel at least a little differently if she'd been conscious for the time directly following the battle for Flarewerk. Aegina had watched at a distance as Yggdra—the enemy, the usurper, the pretender to the Fantasinian throne—had rushed around making sure the Imperial wounded were recovering properly. Seeing Yggdra so genuinely concerned for the well-being of all the injured soldiers, regardless of whose banner they fought beneath, had killed a great deal of the resentment Aegina felt towards the younger girl.

And it was really, _really _hard to hate one of the people who was the reason your big brother was alive and more or less back to normal.

But then, Luciana hadn't seen any of that. She'd slept off her injuries, as hers were far worse than her twin's, and she would never be able to forget that if not for the circumstances of their birth, she would have been Queen, with Aegina next in line for the throne.

Both of them understood the need for the peace talks, the negotiations, and the reparations as Fantasinia helped Bronquia heal from its wartime wounds and smoothed away whatever discontent was left over. Gulcasa and Yggdra were changing the way that their people thought about each other, which was more than anyone else had ever been able to do. War was a nightmare, and there were steps that needed to be taken so that something like this never happened again. The friendship that was forming between the Imperial and Royal armies was vital.

But in Luciana's eyes, Yggdra had racked up too impressive a list of offenses to be forgiven anytime soon. She'd been born on the right side of the sheets, for one. (Which wasn't Yggdra's fault precisely, but was something Luciana was still angry about nevertheless.) She'd claimed the Miracle Tiara and Gran Centurio for herself. She'd been completely ignorant of her half-sisters' suffering until very recently. She'd taken so very many Bronquian lives, without showing any mercy. When she'd gone to the strange island that had risen from the ocean, she'd brought Nessiah back with her. (Luciana couldn't stand Nessiah. Now that he was back, Gulcasa was a lot happier, but the two of them were so close that it was hard to drag Gulcasa's attention back to his family sometimes.) And, worst of all, Gulcasa had begun looking at her with a strange kind of helplessness, and she looked at him that way, too.

Hence, the fact that Gulcasa was heading back to Fantasinia—straight into Yggdra's nefarious clutches, as Luciana saw it—without any of his sisters accompanying him was bound to cause a little familial trouble.

"Luciana-nee doesn't have to get all mad about something like this," Emilia said, shaking her head and rolling her golden eyes. "It's not like Yggdra's going to magically steal Oniisama away from us the second we turn our backs, is it?"

"Jealousy is jealousy, even so… I suppose," Aegina replied hesitantly. "You and I can be more realistic about this, but Luciana…"

Emilia sat up and frowned, folding her arms. "And, you know… I don't even think it would be such a bad thing, if it _did _happen."

Aegina didn't know what to say to that, so she just stayed silent. She _did_ understand Emilia's logic, but she could still empathize with her twin; she didn't want to lose Gulcasa to anyone, either… particularly not Yggdra.

"Sometimes I think… and I'm sure Luciana feels, too…" she ventured at length, "that even though those days were hard… it would've been much easier, much less painful if things had just stayed the way they were when we were in hiding. We only had each other, and… our family was all there seemed to be to the world. It was a simple existence… without war… without love or hate…

"But time has to move forward. And things are better now, in a lot of ways. I think… it's going to take Luciana a little longer to reach that conclusion."

"Huh." Emilia shrugged one shoulder. "Well, for me… as long as Oniisama is happy, that's good enough for me. And it's funny watching the way he gets with Yggdra. He's never been that way with anybody before, and I think it's kinda cute." Her lips quirked into an impish little smile. "Besides… I don't mind sharing."

Aegina laughed a little and patted her sister's head. "Well, we'll have to wait and see. They say that the road to true love is usually a long one. We may not have to 'share' Gulcasa-nii with anybody just yet."

"Mmm… maybe." Emilia pushed Aegina's hand away with a snicker of her own. "We'll still have to share him with Nessiah, though."

Across the room, one of Gulcasa's bodyguards said something that made the Emperor's small circle laugh; as Zilva covered a half smile and the two knights punched each other in the shoulder, Gulcasa turned to Nessiah and elbowed him in the ribs, grinning. Even as far away as they sat, both Aegina and Emilia could clearly see Nessiah go bright red as he gave Gulcasa a defiant shove back.

"…True," Aegina said with a forlorn sigh.

* * *

"Point, and match."

Luciana slowly pulled the tip of her rapier back, twirling the thin sword in a wide circle before sliding it back into her belt. Only once she'd done so did she smile, step forward, and offer her opponent a hand up. "Well fought—you may want to work on guarding a little higher, though."

The other swordswoman nodded, panting, and allowed Luciana to pull her to her feet. "Yes, Commander."

Along with everyone else who was watching, Aegina cheered and applauded. When it came down to the simple art of swordplay, there were very few who could best her sister.

With the town's repair almost complete, all the soldiers who'd been taken off construction detail had gathered in the town hall and cleared a space for this small-scale tournament of sorts. As demonstrated by the attempted attack by Shorehold, it was important for them to keep their skills polished; in addition, it was an important step in some of the soldiers' physical therapy for them to begin testing their limits again. A little healthy exercise in a friendly competition was ideal in achieving both goals.

Smirking a little, Luciana turned to the bench where Aegina sat and saluted her sister with her sword. "Are you ready, then?"

Aegina smiled back at her twin. "You're sure you don't want time to cool off?"

Luciana scoffed, favoring her with a condescending look. "Why would I _need _any?"

Although she stood, Aegina shook her head at her sister. "You know what they say about pride and the fall," she chided, turning to the makeshift judge-slash-referee. The man nodded and handed her a thick rubber blunt to fit over the tip of her practice rapier, which Aegina accepted readily—this was practice combat, and no one wanted to risk accidental injuries.

Watching Luciana carefully, Aegina took her place across from her sister. They'd started on opposite sides of the roster today, and both of them had skillfully taken out each of their opponents so far. They'd always been evenly matched, and had sparred against each other ever since they'd first begun to learn the art of fencing under Baldus' tutelage. Hence, each knew full well what to expect of the other.

Luciana was a brash fighter, and determined. She exploited any weakness she saw in an opponent, and if she even thought she saw the glimmer of a chance, she came rushing in to take it. If you were especially good at feigning injury and Luciana wasn't aware of it, you could defeat her, but you couldn't give her any margin of error—Luciana was quick to regain her stability.

As for Aegina… she tended to be more cautious, and had been so even before she'd lost her right eye in battle. She was more thoughtful both on and off her feet than her impulsive twin, and although Luciana _did _tend to be more intuitive, Aegina was resourceful and quick to devise new strategies. While Gulcasa, Baldus, and Nessiah had been the Imperial Army's main strategists in the war, Aegina had been the one called upon to take Nessiah's place after the battle of Machina Bridge. And she was the only person out of the _entire _army _and _the court who'd ever beat Nessiah at chess.

It had only been once, and it had been due to Nessiah having been distracted and so having made a rather stupid mistake, but it was something nobody else she knew had ever been able to accomplish.

It was a toss-up, then, as to who would be able to win this match. It could easily go either way—or fall into a stalemate that would be broken up by mealtime or someone on carpentry crew telling the soldiers inside it was time for them to swap out. Either way, Aegina would do her best.

The two swordswomen saluted each other with their rapiers, then assumed battle stances. Their judge held out a hand and counted down, then signaled them to begin.

Luciana rushed her sister, but Aegina—figuring that Luciana would probably do as much—dropped to her knees and twisted, catching her sister's blunted blade with her own. They strained for a moment before Aegina threw Luciana's sword off and lunged backwards, trailing into a series of short hops. Both sisters kept their weight on their toes and their knees slightly bent, shifting from foot to foot so it would be less obvious when they tensed for a spring.

Amidst the cheers of support from their audience, Aegina narrowed her eye at Luciana. Her sister would probably want to break the impasse soon—

There. Luciana landed fully on her right foot, then sprang into a swift lunge, sweeping her sword from left to right at her sister's chest. Aegina leaned back, caught the strike, and put her shoulders into shoving Luciana back, following the movement up with a series of deceptively delicate strikes. Luciana parried them, moving back all the while, then lunged too suddenly for Aegina to react and smacked her sister in the side with the blunted edge of her blade.

"Point to Luciana," the judge called unnecessarily, and Luciana backed off grinning. Aegina shook her head, wanting to remind her twin not to count her chickens but knowing there was no use.

The two of them continued to trade blows back and forth for quite a while without either landing any of them. Aegina found herself working up a sweat—and surprised herself by realizing that she'd been missing this. She didn't like fighting to kill—did anyone, really?—but she did enjoy testing her skills in a safe environment, and Luciana was and had always been the perfect fencing partner. Aegina could quite happily spend all afternoon like this.

But then her feet twisted a little as she slid into a counterattack, and as she stumbled and shook her head to try to get her balance back, sweat dripped under the black silk covering the blind side of her face, then trickled over her eye.

The pain was searing, unbelievable, and Aegina dropped to her knees with the shock of it, clapping her hand over her face with a short cry. Luciana went pale and tossed her sword to the side, kneeling down next to her sister worriedly.

"It's—alright, I'm alright," Aegina said softly, even though her stomach was tight with the shock of the salt streaked across her ruined eye. "It's okay, Luciana…"

Luciana's brows came tight together, and she scowled, clearly not believing her sister in the slightest. "Forget the match—go straight down to the doctors. We—I don't want that getting any worse, not when it's almost healed."

Knowing an order when she heard one, Aegina sighed and stood obediently, smiling reassuringly to the concerned crowd before slipping off to the hall's door.

Although the town had its own doctors and healers, Aegina didn't even consider them once—instead, she headed to the building that the Imperial medical division had claimed. While the locals were a lot better at treating disease, they didn't know how to handle battlefield wounds at all, and the healing scar that had once been Aegina's right eye was the result of an arrow wound. And even though Aegina didn't particularly think there was any danger in blotting the sweat off and leaving the thing alone, Luciana was right in that it was better to be safe than sorry. It would be several different kinds of annoying if her healing was disrupted right when she was on the edge of wellness again.

Lamenting the loss of her afternoon's exercise, Aegina pushed open the door and looked around. The building was an old house that had been abandoned when the family that had owned it—father, mother, son, and two daughters—had gone out to fight under the Imperial banner and had all perished, one by one. The young men and women of the medical division had claimed it after the battle for Flarewerk to make sure no others suffered the fate of its erstwhile owners.

But strangely, there didn't seem to be anyone around today. Frowning, Aegina stepped inside, closing the door behind her. This was odd. Usually there was at least _one _doctor or healer loitering around, just in case—

Then she heard voices, and realized that whoever was here must be examining someone in the back room. After a moment's hesitation, Aegina crossed the old wooden floor in slow steps, heading for the door that led into the other main room of the house.

"Breathe in… and out… good." A pause. "And again: In… and out…"

Another, longer pause, and then whoever it was began to speak again. "It probably _is_ just exhaustion, but I'd stay out of the cold and not exert yourself for the next few days if I were you. You do seem a little… well, I'll just say a little, and keep all my extremities." This was said with light humor.

"As I've told you, I bounce back from most things fairly quickly—and can handle the rest regardless. I'm out of practice, is all it is." Aegina instantly recognized this voice as Nessiah's, and wondered what he could be doing here. "It doesn't exactly help that I reincarnated not that long ago… that's one of the few things it's hard to bounce back from."

"You've said it's painful?"

"Like nothing else. Especially when it's soon after this body 'dies'. Always before, there'd been a grace period of at least a few damn days, and I only had a few _hours._ And then I had to fight, which didn't help things much. Too many physical shocks all lined up can weaken you severely, make you sick. I should be about recovered soon—"

When Aegina opened the door, the voices ceased.

"I'm sorry—am I interrupting?" she asked, feeling foolish.

Nessiah was sitting on the long low table the medical division used to examine their patients on, his back to Aegina. He was naked from the waist up, with his shabby robes pooled at his hips; Aegina could tell from the serpentine coil of chains to either side of him that he'd been required to take his faceplates apart as part of his check-up (or whatever it was). He'd flinched a little when Aegina had opened the door, but hadn't turned around to see who it was.

The doctor on hand turned out to be Derek, one of the best the medical division had to offer. Although he was strictly a doctor, he did have a little healing magic, which he used when he had to treat truly severe cases. He was a young man in his mid-twenties with shaggy brown hair and thick glasses, and he was currently looking over a sheaf of paper he'd scribbled on.

"I can leave, if…" Aegina suggested uncertainly.

"Don't worry about it; come in and sit down," Derek told her, waving her in. "Do you need anything, Commander?"

Circling around the end of the table Nessiah wasn't occupying, Aegina undid the black silk wrap that covered the right side of her face from her forehead to halfway down her cheek. "We were training, and I got sweat in my eye," she explained. "I'm not sure it needs to be looked at, but Luciana insists. You know how she is."

Derek nodded, rolling his eyes. "Of course. I'll look you over in a second; I should probably finish up with General Nessiah first." Aegina nodded and sat down, leaving the length of black silk on the table beside her. Normally she was self-conscious about her scar and didn't even like looking at it in the mirror, but Nessiah was far worse off than her, and acting ashamed of her own injuries in front of him felt wrong somehow.

Not even missing half a beat, Derek's attention was back on Nessiah. "How are you on that balm I gave you?"

Still turned slightly away from Aegina, Nessiah smiled. "I'm almost out, seeing as it works better than anything I've tried before. My scars will never fully heal, but they feel better than they ever have. I could probably use another jar."

"Will that be enough to hold you for all of your stay in Fantasinia?" Derek asked, his brow creasing skeptically. "You might be there for months, you know…"

"I doubt it, but if you don't mind sharing the recipe, I'll be fine. Roswell knows more about herbal healing than anyone I know; he'll be able to make it if I pass the ingredients along to him. Come to think of it, Aegina could probably use some, too—it won't be nearly as wasted on her as it is on me, after all."

"Excuse me, but what are you two talking about…?" Aegina asked, not looking at Nessiah directly. She knew he didn't like being stared at.

"It's a remedy that helps scars to heal faster," Derek explained. "And Nessiah's right. I should get some for you to try too, see if it helps. I'll get you your jar, and a copy of the ingredients and instructions—just hold on a moment." And off he went through another door, heading into what had been the house's kitchen in its last life.

Aegina and Nessiah sat in brittle silence for a few moments.

"Ah… so, what brings you…?" Aegina faltered, unable to bear the awkwardness any longer.

"Routine examination," Nessiah replied, still not looking at her directly. He crossed his arms loosely as if to cover himself, his hands resting on his hips. "Like you, I don't feel any need to be here, but Gulcasa insists on them."

"You've been—ill?" Aegina asked, her brow furrowing. "We _haven't _seen you around much…"

"It's sleep deprivation. And just a bit of leftover aches and pains from Heaven's Gate. Nothing that should raise concerns, but Gulcasa finds ways to be concerned nonetheless." Nessiah gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head slightly. "I don't understand humans."

"…Oh…" Aegina looked back down at her hands. "I see."

There was another long, awkward silence.

Aegina didn't know what she was supposed to say, or if the quiet was even bothering Nessiah as much as it was her. And even though she tried to think of something to talk about, the only thing that came to mind was the question she'd been wanting to ask him ever since he'd returned with her brother and the Royal Army—returned, essentially, from the dead. It was the one question she didn't think she could ever get the courage to ask; it was horribly rude, and if Nessiah had always been a bit of an outsider before, he was even more of one now. The only person he associated with on a regular basis was Gulcasa…

And Gulcasa wouldn't ask a question like this. Even if he wanted to, even if he _needed _to, surely he knew better than to broach the subject. So how could Aegina possibly—

"Spit it out, whatever it is," Nessiah said wearily, making Aegina jump in her seat. "I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head, you're thinking so loudly. I can promise you, I'm difficult to offend… you have a way of growing thicker skin after your first few centuries on this ugly world."

Aegina took a deep breath, then moistened her lips, not knowing where to begin. Then she turned to face Nessiah, resting her fingertips over the knot of scar tissue that had once been her eye.

"What's it like?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

When Nessiah didn't answer, she went on, not knowing what to do other than try to fill the silence with words. "I would forget when I slept, or sometimes it just seemed like I have this eye closed, until the pain came back to remind me… Until I found my balance, I was forever running into things, and I couldn't judge distances, and…"

"You're only _half _blind," Nessiah said at last, quietly, bitterly. "And, no. It's not the same. Not nearly, not at all." He rocked a little where he sat, curling inwards, head down. Aegina, watching, felt sure she could count every individual delicate vertebra in the arch of his spine.

After a short while, Nessiah sat up, turned his face to the ceiling. "I remember reading somewhere that when people with no magical inclination lose their sight, they compensate for it by their other senses getting stronger, and develop a sense to their surroundings that can be very powerful. I don't have that. It took months and months for me to gather my wits back enough that I tried to use my magic to see for me, and in all that time, I never developed anything like that. And I couldn't ever give up my magic long enough to try.

"When you close your eyes, you still perceive light and darkness through your eyelids. Try it sometime; cover your face and uncover it when you're near a source of light. There isn't much left of my eyes, or the nerves that connect them to the brain…

"The mind… perceives it as absolute darkness, nothing but black. And then you realize that you're not even really seeing the black. You're seeing nothing, because you can't see. And that's when it starts."

"When… what starts?" Aegina asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"The terror," he told her.

Aegina felt her chest clench.

"I was insane, and suffering the kind of pain that could have broken my mind all over again. Months. I spent months in the dark. I heard voices sometimes, knew people were touching me sometimes, but I was so fractured I couldn't tell what they were saying or doing to me. I didn't know where I was, almost forgot _who _I was. Even after I started to pull myself together again, it took me weeks to remember my name. My own _name._

"I am afraid of the dark. I've carried a horror of it ever since then. Not the kind of half-darkness of night, where you can see the edges of things if you strain your vision. _Real _dark—the pitch blackness that is an absence of everything, the cold emptiness that your soul seeps out into in an attempt to fill it, even though it's not enough, can _never _be enough, and eventually you lose yourself completely…"

Nessiah caught himself, shivered, and took a deep breath, obviously struggling for control. Setting his shoulders, he turned to stare directly at Aegina. _"That _is what being blind is like."

Aegina wanted to cry out, wanted to reach out to him. But she held herself back, clutching the edge of the table with both hands, and gave one convulsive shudder, unable to keep from staring. Nessiah's hair was in his face, but Aegina could still see glimpses of his scars peeking through the protective curtain of his bangs. They didn't _look _hundreds of years old. They looked a few _weeks _old. At least the scars on his back had faded a little—these were still raw, shiny pink and livid against his deathly pale skin.

Nessiah smiled at her, and it was bitter, sardonic. "Really, now. You don't have to choke it back at _this _stage of the proceedings. I'm well aware that the sight of these repulses people."

Aegina's chest clutched again, and she shook her head. "No… it's not anything like that. I'm not… disgusted."

"Then what's that reaction for?" he asked with a hard, cold edge to his voice.

"It's… sympathy," Aegina answered, looking back down at her hands. "I'm feeling for you."

When she glanced back up, Nessiah's smirk had dropped cleanly away, and he was wearing a startled expression in its place. A few moments later, it was his turn to look away, his sightless gaze fixed on his folded hands, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

"There's more of Gulcasa in you than I knew," he said in an embarrassed little voice. "I'm sorry. I've overstepped myself, and misjudged you."

"It's alright," Aegina said with a smile, reaching out to give him a brief pat on the shoulder. "I think… someone who's lived a life as difficult as yours is entitled."

Nessiah's blush deepened. He didn't reply.

Aegina saw it now—here was Gulcasa's best friend, the one he was constantly swearing to protect: A little shy, a lot self-loathing, hidden under layers of sarcasm and hatred, running away from a world that was too painful to face directly. At last, she was beginning to understand why it was that her brother cared so much.

"I didn't feel anything for him… at first," Nessiah confessed slowly, softly. "He was just a human. A person who'd seen me when I'd almost slipped away, and kept me from rest. It's like sleeping, like being underwater; until I'm reborn, there's no pain. It's peaceful, like a balm for the soul. I was almost there that time, and he pulled me back from it; I was _irritated._ I don't know why I stayed with you all. I have no idea what kept me there, or what made me go with you then…

"When it happened—when my magic was taken from me, and I was blind again… I can't even begin to describe the terror of it. I thought I was going to break. I _would've _broken. But… _he _was there. And the darkness wasn't empty, not that time. He filled it with his voice, his warmth. He held my hand; he talked and walked me through it. He led me back out of the darkness, pulled me away from my fears. And I couldn't stop it… it tied us together so tightly.

"I couldn't undo it, and it all happened so _quickly… _suddenly, Gulcasa was always involving me in the things I wanted to avoid, including me as someone he cared for. Even though there was still a gap between me and all of you… all of a sudden, I had a family again. I didn't want a family, didn't want that fear, that loss; I didn't want to care. But it was too late not to.

"And when it came down to it—I couldn't. You all meant too much to me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't fight against you, couldn't barter your lives for my freedom. Not with my own hands. So I ran away. I deserted you all. I hate that I could do that, even if I wasn't capable of open betrayal. Gulcasa means more to me than anyone I've ever known. I hurt him once, but I never want to again. I just—want you to understand that."

Aegina nodded, touched. It was sweet of him to decide to tell her this; the tremble in his voice and the bright pink across his cheeks put her in mind of a besotted young bachelor asking his sweetheart's parents for permission to court her.

"You'll take good care of him, won't you? When you leave," she clarified as Nessiah looked back up at her questioningly.

He smiled again, and it was lopsided and sad, like a grimace. "He's my partner, and he's my friend. Of course I'm going to try to keep him out of trouble."

Aegina nodded to him, and then Derek finally reentered the room.

Nessiah turned towards the doctor and folded his arms. "It can't possibly have taken you that long to find a few jars of medicine. What in the name of the gods were you _doing _back there?"

Derek shrugged, then grinned. "Got a little sidetracked digging up the recipe, and by the time I had it, it sounded like you two were having a moment. I decided to give you some space, wait until you were done."

Before either of them could scold, Derek held out what looked like a jam jar to Nessiah, then a rolled-up scroll of parchment. "Enough to hold you for at least a month and a half. Don't waste it. You should be alright just using it twice a week or so." As Nessiah took the proffered medicine, Derek passed a smaller jar to Aegina. It looked about the size of the shallow dishes of paint and powder cosmetics, and when she pried the lid off and sniffed the solidly packed green balm inside, she found that it had a smell that was somewhere between pine and pepper.

"I'll show you how to use this in just a moment," Derek told her with a wink, then turned back to Nessiah. "As for you, I'm finished looking you over. Go on ahead and report your clean bill of health to His Majesty."

"Who will, of course, cease his worries the instant it's delivered," Nessiah said wryly as he gathered up his robes and navigated back into them. It was only after he was dressed that he reassembled his faceplate with a clean snap, and Aegina realized foolishly that he probably had to go through this ritual every time he dressed or undressed. She'd just never considered it before.

Nessiah slid down off the table, the soles of his sandals making an audible _clack _on the wood paneling, and sauntered off with his new acquisitions in the crook of one arm, giving Aegina a lazy wave.

Aegina just smiled after him, shaking her head. "It's a little amazing, how long you can know someone before you really get to know anything about them. He's not near as difficult as people like to think, is he?"

"Going to deliver that little pearl of wisdom to your sister anytime soon?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows at her innocently.

Aegina sighed. "You can't very well spoon-feed someone a truth they're not ready to swallow…"

"True." Derek laughed and shook his head. "Now, let's have a look at that eye…"

* * *

The rest of the day passed far too quickly, and before Aegina even knew it, the following afternoon had come, and her brother's carriage had been prepared for his departure.

Everyone in town had bid him farewell at some point or another. But this last goodbye was reserved for family, for those dearest to his heart.

Gulcasa's bodyguards were already busying themselves seeing the luggage stored away, checking the tethers and harnesses on their dragons—and shooing Bella off. Gulcasa's battle mount was being trusted to follow along on her own, but she was apparently having a grand old time teasing her fellows, who were stuck pulling the carriage. Which was making both dragons testy, and testy dragons were not particularly known for being obedient.

Gulcasa, Zilva, and Nessiah were standing side by side, facing Luciana, Aegina, and Emilia. All of them were silent, knowing full well that they weren't going to see each other for quite some time, though the silence rested easier on some than on others. Luciana was still sulking.

"You all have fun, okay?" Emilia said brightly, breaking the melancholy pall resting over the scene. "Say hi to Elena and everybody for me, 'kay Zilva?"

She followed up the not-quite-request with something between a tackle and a hug. If anyone else had tried the same maneuver, Zilva would've thrown them, probably breaking limbs; with Emilia, the commander of the Special Forces simply put an arm around the girl's shoulders, her apathetic mask softening into a slight smile.

The sight made Aegina want to giggle. Emilia had a gift, all right.

Releasing Zilva, Emilia turned instead to Nessiah. "I'm gonna miss you," she informed the fallen angel.

"Miss me? After I've had nearly no interaction with anyone but your brother, all this time?" Nessiah asked, clearly amused.

"Well, yeah," Emilia told him, as though it were obvious. "It's not as fun without everybody around. Family's family, right?" Not waiting for a response, she proceeded to hug him even more tightly than she had Zilva.

As she did, Aegina noticed quite suddenly that Nessiah and Emilia were almost the same height now—with her next growth spurt, Emilia would probably catch up to her big sisters.

How the time flew.

Letting go of the extremely flustered Nessiah, Emilia turned to Gulcasa. She didn't have any words for him, just an embrace that was filled with warmth rather than sadness. Gulcasa held her close, but released her when she started to pull back. Giving her that peculiarly vulnerable smile of his, he ruffled her hair in a gesture that was almost more paternal than brotherly.

"You be good, okay?"

"Aren't I _always?" _Emilia teased, and stuck her tongue out at him.

Knowing it was her turn, Aegina dipped a slight bow to Zilva, which the assassin returned. Words weren't really necessary between them, and with Zilva, they were usually awkward anyway.

But where she might've done the same with Nessiah until yesterday, Aegina held out her hand to him, instead. "I'm holding you to your word, alright?" she said with a smile.

Nessiah just smiled back, and took the hand she offered. "If you trust me with nothing else, trust me with this."

Aegina nodded, then squeezed his hand once before releasing it. Nessiah had tiny hands; they were probably dwarfed in Gulcasa's when they walked together. The thought caused her a sweet little stab of pain in her chest, but—unlike Luciana—she was ready to loosen her hold a little bit.

And because Luciana was staring at her suspiciously, Aegina turned away from Nessiah and opened her arms for Gulcasa, who swept her briefly off the ground in a spin the way he usually did with Emilia.

When her feet were on solid earth again, Aegina closed her eyes and snuggled a little closer, indulging herself. No matter what happened in the future, one thing that would never change was the fact that Gulcasa was _her _big brother, the one she'd adored since before she could remember.

"Take care," was all she said, feeling her throat clutch up.

"You, too," he told her, and they let go.

Luciana looked first to Zilva, then to Nessiah, and turned her nose up at the latter while entirely dismissing the former. She folded her arms and stood stiffly still, glaring at Gulcasa for almost a solid minute before she reluctantly muttered, "Don't do anything stupid while you're off."

Gulcasa rolled his golden eyes and sighed, exasperated. "I swear, you really must get off on giving me a hard time. Whatever. Keep things in line here, will you?"

And as Luciana nodded, pressing her lips into a firm line in the way that let Aegina know they wanted to tremble, Gulcasa turned towards Nessiah and scooped the little magician into his arms in one wide, sweeping gesture.

Nessiah let out a cute, indignant sound that was dead center between a squeak and a squeal, going as scarlet as Gulcasa's hair. While Zilva and both his bodyguards got into the carriage, Gulcasa made a show of carrying his best friend up to its door, but stopped when Nessiah got both fists into his hair and gave it a good yank, looking absolutely furious.

"Put-me-down-you-_moron_-before-I-am-forced-to-break-your-stupid-head," Nessiah hissed from between gritted teeth.

Because they were already standing right there, Gulcasa complied, leaning into the carriage to plunk Nessiah down on the seat. "Don't have a fit over every little thing, Nessa." So saying, he stepped into the car with a "Budge up, will you?", then closed the door.

Gulcasa's guards, perched in the driver's seat, clucked to the dragons, who grudgingly started forward. The carriage wheels began to roll.

Both Aegina and Emilia started to wave, and laughed a little as Gulcasa leaned out the window to salute them. Luciana sulked for a little while, then raised one hand in an almost shy gesture, arranging her face into a sad pout.

The three of them stood there and watched until the carriage disappeared down the road.

**(tsuzuku)**


	5. Somewhere to Begin

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

It was one of those strange little truths of life that a carriage tended to roll slower than an army marched. Where the Imperial Army would've reached Ishnad in the middle of the night, the Emperor's carriage wouldn't get there until the next afternoon, and it would take almost another hour after that point for them to finally arrive at their destination.

Which meant a long, boring wait.

Most of the time, Gulcasa's bodyguards or Zilva drove; Nessiah, left with no one to converse with as Gulcasa was usually talking to whoever else was sitting in the cab, slept most of the way. Although Gulcasa's nagging had never fazed him, he _had _listened to Derek's warnings about his health, and he knew full well that all his recent exertion had set his healing back a bit. It took a _long _time to recover from a reincarnation. Hence, since he _did _want to visit with his friends in Fantasinia, he wasn't taking chances—he'd sleep now, while he could.

They spent the night in Ishnad when they arrived, giving the dragons a rest and a chance to chase Bella around for spending the entire trip harassing them. Nessiah slept soundly through dinner, but didn't miss breakfast. And surreptitiously stole from Gulcasa's plate whenever the Emperor turned to talk to the person on his other side. There were too many little grievances they'd built up—and since Nessiah rarely forgot or forgave any offense, he considered it nothing more than just punishment.

Maybe it was childish, but it was still _satisfying._

Shortly after breakfast, they set out again. Gulcasa opted to steer—both to give his bodyguards a break and to make sure Bella wouldn't pester her companions too much—and because Zilva was napping across one of the seats and there was scant space for Nessiah to fit between two big men in armor, the fallen angel chose to sit beside his partner for what was left of the ride.

And he must have dozed off along the way, because it seemed that he'd only been riding for a few minutes with his head on Gulcasa's shoulder when his friend was gently shaking him awake.

"Rise and shine, Nessa," Gulcasa told him with a gentle laugh. "We're here."

"……?" Shaking his head a little, Nessiah sat up stiffly and stretched. Still feeling considerably sleepy, he took a brief glance at his surroundings.

The carriage was rolling down the wide cobbled street known as Rodney Road, which stretched from the independent state of Verlaine all the way to Canossa. Nessiah could make out the thick woodlands of Marduk off in the distance, and behind them—quite a ways behind, but still looming large on the horizon—lay Ishnad and the Valendart mountains.

Up ahead were the woods and walls surrounding the castle city of Karona. As this was a conquered territory belonging to Fantasinia, the banner flying from the towers was a slightly altered version of the Kingdom's flag: The golden phoenix and upturned sword on a green field, rather than blue. There seemed to be a few soldiers standing up on the ramparts, who were alerting others to the arrival of the small Imperial detail.

As the carriage pulled up towards the gate, there was a bright, elated squeal from the direction of the castle, one that had Nessiah sitting bolt upright, all traces of sleepiness long forgotten.

Unable to keep still, he got up and edged to the side of the carriage. "I'm going ahead from here," he told Gulcasa, and leaped lightly off, sprinting off down the road in light, impossibly fast strides. The ragged tails of his robes flew out behind him as he went, the wind tousling his short hair and the urgent speed of his movement cuing a cacophony of jangles from his chains.

Gulcasa stood in the seat, still holding the reins in one hand, and made as if to call Nessiah back, but thought better of it and sat down, shaking his head. It was hopeless; Nessiah wouldn't pay any attention to him at all. And why should he? He'd been separated from the person he called the other half of his soul for long enough.

Even though the run to the castle gates was a short one, Nessiah was still out of breath by the end of it, his weakened body trembling with the effort. Despite the shock of it—had he really let himself go _that _much?—he would worry about it later. There were more important things for him to concentrate on now.

With one last burst of speed, he managed to push himself until he was able to collapse straight into the open arms that waited for him. They folded tight around him and squeezed as he clung back, trembling uncontrollably.

"You dipshit _dumbass!"_ she scolded fiercely as she held him even closer. "You didn't need to run and wear yourself out, you moron!"

Nessiah waited for the quick, shallow pant of his breath to abate, then smiled into her shoulder. "Yes, I did."

Kylier laughed at him. "Missed you."

Now fairly sure his own legs would hold him, Nessiah straightened up with an effort and smiled at her. "Missed you more."

She was Vanir, a member of the lawless tribes Fantasinia had banished to the wastes of Lost Aries long ago, with deep bronze skin, wide lovely eyes that were a shade of tawny orange, and sweet clover-colored hair that fell crisply about her face—though she'd mercilessly pinned a great deal of it back into a tail. She dressed as her people did, in bright colors trimmed with black, with a cotton-and-leather shirt that fell open to show a generous amount of skin, a rough leather miniskirt, and skintight black leggings beneath it. Although she hadn't used them as they were meant for quite a while, she still wore the tough boots and long gloves of a griffon breeder.

Their soul-deep bond had come about purely by accident when, during the first of the two climactic battles on Ancardia last year, Nessiah had gotten the bright idea to taunt the Royal Army a little bit more. Even though they had already been surrounded by their own deceased soldiers—temporarily revived (and in some cases reassembled) courtesy of the forbidden magic Nessiah had learned to harness his own chains to use—Nessiah had sought to put them in an even more wrenching situation by attempting to control Kylier, too.

The choice hadn't been _entirely _arbitrary. While Nessiah had been able to accurately perceive a person's soul since he was barely more than an infant and he could take control of souls through the Chains of Conviction, the chances of his actually being able to command a living person were slim. Sentient beings possessed fierce wills, and when they were filled with the vitality of life—something Nessiah had never truly had since he'd been sundered—they usually broke free from his grasping quite easily. Souls whose bodies had died were easy to control, and so were souls who had had close brushes with death in the recent past.

Those criteria had narrowed Nessiah's possible choices down to two. Even so, Roswell was a fair sorcerer in his own right, and although he was physically a little weaker than Kylier, he would have had a better chance of freeing himself. So Nessiah had ignored Roswell, and turned Kylier into his puppet.

When the connection had been established, part of Kylier's awareness—an imprint of her soul and memories—had flowed through Nessiah's consciousness. He'd been able to ignore that for the time being, had expected it, and was flicking her towards her human friends when the unthinkable had happened: He'd lost control of the spell.

Kylier had regained command of her body, which was bad enough, but worse, the connection between them had abruptly reversed, and the whole of his memory had been wrenched out and laid bare for both of them to see.

It had been painful, and sickening—and he'd been helpless to stop it. She'd seen those brief nineteen years he'd had in Asgard, an idyll compared to his existence now—which had ripped at his heart—and the events leading up to his sundering—which had threatened to shatter his mind. She'd even been forced to live through what—_that person—_and Paltina had done to him, which had twisted his insides with nausea and a horror that had never dulled, even through all his years. She'd watched all the empty years of wandering, of waiting, of manipulation and deceit; she'd borne all the weight of his rage and his hate and his despair and the insanity that always seemed to linger nearby, waiting for any momentary weakness to claim him again.

And all that, they'd both lived in a matter of instants.

But the weight of all the horrors Nessiah had never wanted brought into the light hadn't broken Kylier, and they hadn't made her despise him—which still bewildered him sometimes. Surely anyone would hate him, if they knew everything he'd done—or so he'd always thought. But Kylier had seen it all, and she'd understood him, empathized with him for it. _Loved _him for it.

And because Nessiah knew her just as well, he couldn't help but love her back.

Sometimes it was like they were two halves of the same person; others, they were just best friends, supporting each other through everything they had to suffer. Nessiah wasn't sure how he'd made it this far without Kylier, and he sure as hell had no idea how he'd survive once she reached the end of her years. And although it had been no hardship to live with Gulcasa and his family for the past few months, now that he was by her side again, it felt as though a weight had subtly been lifted from his shoulders.

"I thought you were going to wait back at Paltina," Nessiah told her at length, naming the capital of Fantasinia. Its founder, Paltineas—Fantasinia's first king—had christened it with the name of his mother; Nessiah had known both of them, in his day.

"I was," Kylier said, nodding. "I changed my mind."

"Who else is here?"

"Oh, you know—Yggdra obviously, and Milanor… he's not too keen on the idea of the two of us being where he can't keep an eye on us." Kylier rolled her eyes at Milanor's suspicions, cleanly dismissing them. "Durant's here, and Russell and Cruz 'cause this is where they live. Everyone else is back at Paltina, though. It's good that we'll be going back there in a few days, 'cause there's always the worry that Rosary's gonna cause trouble what with all the _reasonable _people over here. Besides, I'm sure you wanna see Roswell again." She grinned a little on the last statement; Nessiah sighed. She was right, but even though she wasn't being obvious, that was something that really had to stay between the three of them.

"Hopefully the past few months have been easier on you than they have been on us," Nessiah said with a tragic shake of his head. "Winter in Bronquia… well, you know how I feel about that. And we've had a shocking influx of idiots lately."

Kylier shook her head at him. "Ness, you consider the majority of humans to be idiots. How is an influx of them important news?"

"These idiots happen to be ungrateful as well as stupid, and attempted to overthrow the Imperial family by attacking the town we were staying at. We flattened them."

Kylier frowned. "Well, I should hope! Everyone's okay?"

"Not one casualty. The only marginally upsetting part of the business was the way that _someone _decided to go discipline the originators of the mischief without me." Nessiah turned to look significantly over his shoulder at where the carriage was finally pulling up behind them.

Kylier put her hands on her hips and grinned up at Gulcasa. "Hey there, big guy. Hear you've been having an influx of idiots in Bronquia lately."

Gulcasa snorted. "You could call it that. While I knew Shorehold always preferred the status quo of the days before I took the throne, I never figured them to be stupid enough to act on it. And once we've got the carriage and the dragons settled, I'm going to have to find some way to explain the mess to Yggdra."

Nessiah shook his head tragically. "You never _have _seemed to grasp the fact that when you need to excuse yourself for something sticky, the best way to do it without causing more trouble than you would've gotten into anyway is to keep your mouth shut and let _me _handle it."

"Shut up." Gulcasa lightly flapped the reins, and the dragons began to strain forwards again, clearly quite anxious to get out of the harness for a while. "When you two are done gossiping, you can find us with the Queen. By which time I will likely have sorted the issue out my own way."

And off they went. Nessiah and Kylier watched the carriage rattle off for a while, then headed through the gate themselves.

"So how did Gulcasa manage to get all that fighting done anyway? Wouldn't it get Brongaa awful antsy for him to go riding back in like that?"

"Ordinarily it would have, which is why I'm not happy with him for going off on his own. But there's kind of a loophole. Gulcasa and I… we formed a magical contract that morning, before the attack. I'll give you the details later; I'd rather not talk about it where someone could overhear." Even telling her in _private _would be difficult, but he needed to tell her, and he needed someplace quiet and out-of-the-way to do it.

Kylier's eyebrows went slowly up and down, then she shrugged. "Okay. What _do _you want to talk about on the way in, then?"

"Why not fill me in a little on how _you've _been doing all this time? It's hard to get messengers through all the snow, and I've wondered about everyone quite a bit over the past months."

Kylier grinned, shaking her head. "Okay. Oh, God. You haven't heard about Milanor and Durant's little spat out on the practice courts yet, _have _you."

"I have a feeling I'm about to," Nessiah replied, smirking. "Was it good?"

"Are you _kidding? _It was bloody _epic._ So, Milanor heard Durant going on and on about how winning tournaments is the way you prove you're a real man…"

* * *

Karona had been a very valuable acquisition for Fantasinia, especially considering the convenience of the fact that it sat just on their side of the border between it and Bronquia. The entire town was essentially a fortress, built on heavy tiled cobbles around sweet gardens and sturdy brick-and-stone houses, armed with a cannon battery and contained within thick walls. Deep within the city was the castle itself, built in beautiful Gothic design of dark red and gray stone, where Karona's ruling family had once lived. After Fantasinia had claimed the country as their territory, the barons and—in times of war—prominent Royal generals had lived there, instead.

It was currently serving as the living quarters of the Queen and those members of her retinue who'd come along with her, with several wings open for refugees and guests to stay in as they pleased. And its main hall was where the Emperor was debriefing her on the reconstruction progress and the Shorehold rebellion.

By the time Nessiah and Kylier wandered in, it seemed as though Gulcasa had finished most of his discourse. The discussion was taking place on the far end of the hall, but one of the Queen's soldiers—the hunter named Cruz who was formerly a member of the Karona Resistance—was loitering closer to the doors and sat up in his chair when he spotted them.

"Hey—you guys showed up just in time, they're almost done. C'mon, come sit."

With his wide grin, guileless apple-green eyes, the light smattering of freckles over his cheeks, and the messy shock of straw-colored hair that spilled around his face and down the nape of his neck, Cruz looked far younger than his twenty-two years. He was a simple-minded sort and was at times rather childish, but something about his irrepressible optimism made people overlook his faults and like him nonetheless.

Though he hadn't seemed involved in the conference to Nessiah, Cruz was quite comfortable in intruding upon it, leading him and Kylier to seats at the oaken table that had been set up in the hall in place of the rulers' thrones. No one else seemed bothered when the hunter pulled out a chair next to the swordsman Russell and plunked down in it.

Nessiah scanned the table before taking his own seat. As Kylier had said, the only members of the former Royal Army who were accompanying the Queen were Milanor, Durant, Russell, and Cruz. Milanor and Durant flanked Yggdra's sides protectively, and Gulcasa had taken the chair across from her, with his bodyguards standing behind him and Zilva sitting to his right. Kylier had sat down next to Cruz, leaving Nessiah the chair directly to Gulcasa's left.

Russell was also a native of Karona, a twenty-five-year-old swordsman who'd been first a general under the command of Yggdra's father Ordene, then one of Gulcasa's Dragon Generals, then finally a simple commander in Yggdra's army. He was chivalrous and generally friendly, an honorable fighter who Gulcasa had come to respect so much that he'd decided to forcibly recruit the man instead of killing him when Karona had fallen. Russell had refused; Gulcasa had gotten his way by imprisoning Russell's cleric fiancée Flone and swearing to release her after he'd won the war. When the Royal Army had freed her, Russell had sided with them instead. Even so, Russell still had friends from both countries.

Durant, in comparison, had always been a Royal knight, and would always be one until the day he died. With the war over, he'd accepted the title of Queen's Champion, and still acted as though he was fully prepared to fling himself bodily between Yggdra and anything that threatened her. If his usually warm blue eyes seemed a little cold, if his calm expression waxed grim, it was probably due to the fact that trusting Gulcasa and Nessiah as caretakers of Yggdra's welfare was still a bit difficult for him.

The scowl that had suddenly appeared on Milanor's tattooed face, though, was obviously there because Nessiah was sitting next to Kylier and he wasn't. Seeing him glaring, Nessiah edged a little closer to Kylier, rested his elbows on the table and his face on the knuckles of one hand, then flashed a complacent smirk in the thief's direction. Milanor bristled, and the hostility in his eyes quickly ratcheted several notches higher.

Kylier, obviously noticing what Nessiah was up to, elbowed him and whispered "Cut it out" irritably. Nessiah did, but only after giving Milanor one last leer.

Milanor hated Nessiah. Nessiah alternately despised Milanor right back and was amused by him, all while looking down his nose at the human. Their enmity stemmed from the facts that Milanor had once been Kylier's best friend and he didn't like being jockeyed aside, he had a crush on her and was crazy jealous, and he still hadn't forgiven Nessiah for forcing Kylier to live through his memories on Ancardia. Never mind that it hadn't been anything either Nessiah or Kylier could help, and never mind that Kylier had been in love with Milanor for a very long time and had no romantic inclinations towards Nessiah at all. The only reason their open hostility hadn't dissolved into bloodshed was because Kylier was dear to both of them and they to her, and she didn't want them trying to kill each other.

Nessiah supposed he owed Milanor for keeping Yggdra alive during the first tenuous weeks of the Royal Army's existence, but the thief boy _really _drove him up the wall. Even if he still wanted to take revenge on the gods—and he _did, _because what had happened to him wasn't _right—_that was impossible for him now, and he only had the best intentions for Bronquia and Fantasinia. Yet Milanor still suspected his every action, trying to find some kind of ulterior motive behind it.

_Gods, but these mortals are tiring, _Nessiah thought with distaste, glaring at Milanor across the table. The young thief had messy silver hair and green-blue eyes, and wiry strength that could keep him going for hours even after more muscle-bound men had worked themselves into exhaustion. He was stronger than he looked, and he carried his own customized weapon—a retempered scythe blade he wielded like an axe, which he called Silver Moon. Despite its unconventional appearance, it was deadly—Nessiah knew that well. The weapon had claimed his life once, after all.

And with her scowling knight to one side and her scowling thief to the other sat Fantasinia's seventeen-year-old queen, Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz.

As she listened to Gulcasa speak, Yggdra stayed absolutely silent, only moving to brush stray tufts of bright blond hair out of her face when they fell from where she tucked them behind an ear. Her deep blue eyes, exactly the shade Nessiah's had been, were wide and serious as she stared down the table at Gulcasa. She was dressed in a wide-skirted white dress and her customary black corset with a green silken sash tied loosely at her hips and her delicate, lacy silver crown perched atop the braids that circled the back of her head.

For Nessiah, looking at Yggdra was almost like looking into a mirror. He'd been that innocent once. He'd been that idealistic once. The memories were as jagged and painful as rusty knives, but he had never been able to banish them. Maybe he wasn't supposed to.

He'd forged that crown after he'd been sundered to this world, and had placed it on the head of Yggdra's distant ancestor Paltina, the woman who'd almost single-handedly conquered most of the countries in the known world—the woman who'd mothered Paltineas, the founder of the Kingdom of Fantasinia. He'd forged the staff Yggdra was holding a few years before then, and given it into the care of the gods and the Magi they'd had then as a token of thanks for accepting him as a Magus candidate. It was useless in battle, but it lent its magic to its holder and was an agent of calming; Nessiah's old friend and foster sister Celina had bequeathed it to Yggdra when she'd decided to give up the Gran Centurio.

The Gran Centurio.

Someone else likely would've thought it was foolish for Nessiah to grieve for a sword so, even one he'd made himself. But Nessiah didn't care. The people who held that opinion didn't understand. That sword had been the last thing he'd made as a child, and he'd slaved over its creation for nearly a year, completing it scant days after his nineteenth birthday. He'd poured his soul into it; it had been the culmination of all his skill, all the blood, sweat, and tears he'd paid to be where he was. He'd forged it as his prayer. When he'd been cast down, it had become his hope.

That sword had been more Nessiah's child than—well. Best not to think of _that._

The worst part of losing the Gran Centurio was being forced to admit to himself that he'd corrupted it intentionally. That sword hadn't been meant to become a tool for killing; Nessiah had created it to be an instrument of peace, something he'd hoped would end war in Midgard. Used properly, it granted its wielder the same empathy and ability to perceive the souls of others that Nessiah had been born with. It amassed power with each use, and he'd planned for it to continue doing so until its strength was boundless.

It was because of that power that, desperate and nearly mindless, Nessiah had deliberately given it to humans without explaining its abilities. He'd known they would kill with it. At that time, he hadn't cared one bit. Even as tainted as it had become, the Gran Centurio had been strong enough to break the Chains of Conviction—which was all he'd wanted since he'd first fallen.

But what he'd done to it had been wrong, and so he'd left the ultimate decision of its fate in Yggdra's hands.

Still, just because he'd stepped back hadn't meant he'd let go. It was impossible, he knew, to ever really let go.

Now all Nessiah could do was wait and see if Yggdra could do what he hadn't been capable of, and bring peace to these shattered lands. She'd seen into his soul with his sword, however briefly; even if he wasn't as close to her as he was to Gulcasa or Kylier or Roswell, he still considered her a friend. His manipulations and her choices had tangled them together as surely as if the gods had bound them with the fabled red thread of fate.

There were darker connections between them, too. Yggdra wasn't aware of them, and Nessiah didn't intend that she should ever have to know. It was enough that he had to live with those memories.

At last, Gulcasa finished speaking. It was the silence that made Nessiah realize it; he'd barely been paying attention at all. As it was, when Gulcasa sighed and rested his elbows on the table to rake his bangs back, worn down, it took him a moment of confusion before he noticed, then reached out and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. Gulcasa didn't turn to look at him, but he did smile just slightly.

"This is troublesome," Yggdra said at length.

"Damn straight." It was barely more than a groan; letting his hands come to rest on the table, Gulcasa shook his head and looked around the hall restlessly. "I really wish it hadn't come down to a fight, but it did and now we've got the potential for more unrest. I told the bastards that I wasn't going to tolerate any more of their subversions, but I may have just made it worse. When we go back, I'm going to need to go there, work with them, and try to get them to understand. Hopefully they'll have had enough time to cool down by then, and since you'll be with us and they'll listen to you as Ordene's daughter, God willing it'll be some kind of solution…"

"I hope I can be of use," Yggdra agreed with a nod. "And you don't need to push yourselves so hard…"

"Even though we didn't swear off war like Fantasinia, it would be bad business all around for us to have to fight again," Gulcasa said flatly. "We're cut down to the bone, decimated. Only about a quarter of the original forces are capable of fighting, and they're tired. We're all tired. I'm not as good diplomatically as you, and Shorehold wouldn't trust Nessiah as far as they could throw him. No offense, Nessa—you know it's true."

"And I don't blame them one bit," Nessiah said sincerely, rubbing Gulcasa's shoulder supportively. "They have the right to suspect me."

Gulcasa covered Nessiah's hand with his own, looking at him apologetically.

"I swear we'll do everything we can," Yggdra promised, nodding. She flushed and glanced down, wearing a small bashful smile. "And I'm so glad… that you weren't hurt."

Gulcasa flinched a little, then color rose to his cheeks. "…Yeah," he muttered, turning away.

Nessiah's chest clenched; under the table, Kylier laid a hand on his sympathetically. Neither of them let it show.

Now openly more cheerful, Yggdra stood up. "That should be all for now," she said brightly. "All in all, things are better than we had a right to hope for. Everyone, please get to your rooms and get some rest for the night—we'll start out for Paltina tomorrow afternoon. Gulcasa, Nessiah… it's so wonderful to have you back."

With her dismissal, everyone else stood with a great scraping of chairs.

Turning towards Gulcasa, Kylier slung her arm around Nessiah's shoulders. "Hey—you mind if I steal him for tonight?"

Gulcasa turned his laugh into a cough and gave them his crooked grin. "What the hell. I bet you've got a lot to catch up on—girl talk and all."

Nessiah reached out and gave Gulcasa a good shove. "Don't push it," he warned.

"Enjoy being stolen. I'll just enjoy having my bed to myself for once."

"Shut up," Nessiah growled, going bright pink as he and Kylier did an about-face and headed for the doors with Milanor glaring daggers at them all the way.

"He didn't _really _mean that the way it came out, did he?" Kylier asked quietly.

"No."

"Which can't really be much fun for you, can it, Ness? Too bad. So, spill—we _do _have a lot more to talk about, anyway…"

* * *

As a rule, Kylier was the only person Nessiah could ever be truly honest with. He had no secrets from her, none at all—when there were things he had to keep from almost everyone else. And it definitely made his life a lot easier when there was someone he could always talk to. So as soon as the two of them were in her room at the castle and Nessiah was sure there was no one listening at the door, he explained his and Gulcasa's pactio to her as her eyes got wider and wider.

Once he was finished, there was silence for a few seconds, and then:

"Get out. Get _out. _He _kissed _you! He actually _kissed _you! Oh my _God! _That's so _awesome! _We've gotta celebrate—break out the champagne!"

It was such a typically Kylier reaction that Nessiah had to laugh, even as he flopped back onto the bed and covered his face with both hands. "Please. Don't treat this as though it's a good thing. Besides, you're underage. And I'm a lightweight."

"Ness, it's a _saying." _Kylier sat heavily next to him, kicking her feet up as she turned, hit the mattress on her belly, and poked him in the side. "And if I know you, you've probably _celebrated _over this once or twice already." This she said with a wicked grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Please, let's not talk about that."

"You_ so _did. You did, didn't you?" Kylier teased, elbowing him now.

"He's my best friend, and it was just a kiss, and it was for the _contract, _and…" With a moan, Nessiah rolled over, lying facedown, and curled both hands into fists. "I—feel—_so _unclean…"

Kylier laughed at him, sympathetically rather than mockingly. "Good thing we're headed out tomorrow. God, you must have mountains of sexual frustration you need to work off."

Nessiah lifted his head to give her a sour stare. "Unless you want this conversation to take a sudden shift in the direction of your virginity, _drop it."_

Kylier winced. "Touché. Okay, I'll shut up."

With another groan, Nessiah went face-first back into the comforter.

Biting her lip, Kylier laid her hand on his shoulder and stroked it soothingly. "But, come on—he _kissed _you. You didn't kiss him, it was the other way around. And no matter how much you tried to get him to give it up on making a contract with you, he wouldn't hear no. And it was his first kiss! I'm so happy for you."

"I'm _not _happy for me," Nessiah retorted adamantly, his voice muffled in the bedclothes. "I don't need this to be any harder than it already is on me. I'm his friend. He loves Yggdra. She's good for him, and they'll be very happy together, and I want to be happy for them. This isn't helping."

"Gulcasa has a _crush _on Yggdra, who also has a _crush _on him," Kylier clarified. "And, Ness, _seriously. _He doesn't look at you the way guys look at their friends. You can't miss that, not really. You should give it a shot. I really think you have a chance."

"Your opinionated advice on my love life or lack thereof notwithstanding, I can't. I don't know the first thing about romance, and in any case, if I care about him at all, I _can't _ever show it. Even if he _did _reciprocate, I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know—you're horrifically bad for him, he's mortal and you're not, it can't ever happen and blah blah blah." Kylier shook his shoulder a little. "But this is making you miserable, which is making me miserable, and it's making Gulcasa worried about you. Which makes _him _miserable. Which makes _Yggdra _worried about _him, _which makes _her _miserable. It's all one big circle of misery here, Nessiah. Break free from the cosmic angst, walk on the wild side, and just go _hit _on the guy, for heaven's sake. It's going to make everyone a lot happier in the long run."

"…Kylier, really…"

"You've been dead stupid in love with Gulcasa for _how _long?" she pressed insistently. "Nessiah, you have to at least _try. _I think he's got feelings for you too, whether he's figured it out yet or not. If you just keep watching him and Yggdra from the sidelines and moping around, he's going to put two and two together eventually anyways."

"Kylier, can we _please _not talk about this anymore? I'm sick of picking it over in my mind, and I need to think about something else for a while. Alright?"

Kylier sighed tragically. "Okay, okay."

There was a long silence.

"…So how was it?"

Lifting his head from the bedcovers, Nessiah let it rest on Kylier's shoulder.

"It was," he said in a hoarse whisper, "quite possibly the most romantic, erotic, terrifying, beautiful moment in my entire life."

Kylier rested her cheek against his forehead and put an arm around his shoulders, hugging him against her side. "Poor baby."

* * *

He spent the night with her, instead of picking out a room of his own in the castle. It wasn't exactly the most restful night of his life, but he got sleep, which was more than he could say for his recent days in Bronquia. At least there weren't any fascinating books in the room to keep him up at all hours.

Still, though it made his insides flutter with a strange helpless warmth to admit it, he missed being able to curl up into Gulcasa's solid heat. There was something so reassuring about sleeping at the side of the one you loved. Besides, the bed was unfamiliar and a bit too hard for Nessiah's taste. His dreams were uneasy and splintered that night, flashes and fragments of flight.

He woke with an ache in his chest and a petulant desire to roll over and go back to sleep, his head on Kylier's breast, and the wry satisfaction in knowing that Milanor would blow an artery if he saw them like this. Because he was hungry, needed the privy, and was due to treat his scars with Derek's miracle balm, he got up, which woke Kylier. They spent a few moments of dubious wakefulness in front of the mirror in the washroom, and banished each other in turn to see to their hygiene.

Though Nessiah had to wonder why he'd bothered when directly afterward, he wound up lying completely naked on the bed while Kylier worked the balm into his scarred back. She assured him that while sleeping with him and even bathing with him was one thing, it was a completely different matter when one of them required the privy in the most technical sense. Because he found that he agreed, Nessiah just settled into the sheets and enjoyed the feel of her hands on his back.

Significantly more awake after this, they dressed and headed down to eat.

Down in the castle's sumptuous dining hall, though, they were surprised to find only Gulcasa, Yggdra, and Milanor there with the staff who ran the place. Cruz, as it turned out, was still asleep, whereas Russell was with Flone and both Durant and Zilva had come down and eaten significantly earlier. Kylier retrieved pastries, Nessiah took more jelly buns and some still-sizzling breakfast meat, and the two of them sat down with their comrades.

Yggdra, it appeared, was trying to convince Gulcasa to come with her to a glen a little ways off from the castle to go pick berries.

"Sweetberries aren't in season yet," Gulcasa pointed out, but although the brightly colored, sweet-and-sour red and pink berries were both his and Yggdra's favorite food, the Queen was not to be deterred.

"I've been down there before, and at this time of year, the first of the blackberry bushes start to bear fruit," she cajoled, giving him her most hopeful smile. "This early, the berries are a little smaller, but they're much sweeter. I know you'll love them."

Just as he did whenever Nessiah dealt him a trump card, Gulcasa caved. "Alright, alright. It's not as though we've much else to do until it's time to go, is it?"

"For what it's worth, she _is _right—the berries this time of year are delicious," Kylier added, nodding. "Bring us back some, and don't just eat them all right away, okay?"

Gulcasa rested his chin on his fist and looked first to her, then to Nessiah. "What the hell—why don't you two come with us? Kylier, it sounds like you like these too, and Nessiah, even though cherries are your favorite fruit, you eat a _lot _of blackberries when you get the chance."

"Oh, yes!" Yggdra looked genuinely excited by the prospect, apparently not even noticing that her couple time with Gulcasa had just been neatly sabotaged. "Please, come along! It'll be so much fun if we all go together."

Nessiah opened his mouth to decline, but his heart spoke before his mind. "If you really think so, then I'd be glad to join you."

"Yeah—it's been a _long _time since I've been able to go pick spring berries," Kylier agreed with a grin.

"Now wait just a minute!" Milanor slammed both hands onto the table, making everyone's breakfast jump. "You're not goin' _anywhere _without me!"

And from the glower he sent Nessiah's way, it was very obvious as to why.

"Oh—of course not; we wouldn't leave you out," Yggdra reassured him with a wide smile.

And so, as soon as breakfast was finished, off they went.

* * *

The glen was a beautiful place, with berry bushes framed by heather and wildflowers just beginning to showcase their bright blooms. It smelled sweet, and even sweeter in the gentle spring warmth, with the sun beaming down at them from the candy-blue sky. There were barely any clouds in sight, and a few early butterflies were already flitting from plant to plant, drinking from those flowers that were already open.

Gulcasa and Yggdra walked in front, each picking a few berries from bushes they passed. Holding her scepter under her arm, Yggdra bunched up her skirts and held her berries in the makeshift basket they formed; Gulcasa just looked his berries over and ate them.

Nessiah and Milanor stayed on either side of Kylier, who talked to one and then the other with perfect nonchalance, clearly expecting them both to behave as they sampled berries that their enthusiastic companions had passed.

"I remember doing this with my parents when I was just a kid," Gulcasa remarked. "Emilia used to get scolded for picking whatever she saw—our mom always told us that berries at animal-height were for animals, ones at bird-height were for birds, and that only the ones at people-height were for people. I guess it's gotten kind of ingrained."

Yggdra smiled appreciatively and nodded. "My mother used to tell me exactly the same thing. Until now, I thought I was the only one…"

"This is nice," Kylier said, taking a deep breath of the fresh spring air. "All of us together like this, I mean. None of us are attacking the rest of us, and we don't have any enemies to fight… we're just out, enjoying the weather and the food nature's been growing for us."

"…I guess," Milanor admitted.

Nessiah sighed and kept silent. He supposed he'd be more open to the spirit of companionship around them if he didn't have to watch the man he loved bonding with the girl he was trying to put his faith in.

"Why'd you bring that thing with you?" Milanor asked suddenly, pointing around Kylier at the Revelation of the Gods, which Nessiah was holding to his chest.

Nessiah frowned a little. "A mage's spellbook is his life. I don't just leave this places. If I'm going any significant distance from where my things are, I take this with me."

"Seems paranoid to me, but _I _dunno," Milanor sighed, rolling his eyes.

Feeling his shoulders go tense, Nessiah wished bitterly for his natural sight. Blind as he was, there was no way for Milanor to tell that the glare he was favoring the thief with was meant to peel paint. "Excuse me for refusing to leave my valuables unattended, _thief."_

His dry, icy tone must've gotten the gist across, because Milanor bristled. "You wanna start somethin', you son of a—"

Kylier smacked Milanor in the shoulder and put a hand over Nessiah's mouth, cleanly cutting off his brilliant retort. "Play nice," she warned them both.

Nessiah and Milanor both glared at each other, but obeyed.

Up ahead, Yggdra sighed.

"Yes, he's usually like this," Gulcasa told her in a long-suffering tone.

_"Gulcasa," _Nessiah said in a very grating voice.

"Yes, Mom."

And peace—tenuous though it might have been—was restored.

As Gulcasa and Yggdra discussed berries and their childhoods and Milanor and Kylier argued about whether blackberries tasted weird this sweet, Nessiah held the Revelation a little closer and wondered why he'd even come along. He wasn't going to be jealous; this was what he wanted to have happen. But he didn't want to have to _see _it happen, so why had he leapt at the opportunity to keep an eye on his Emperor and his Queen? It would only cause him pain.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost didn't realize, and when he felt the sudden chill and tension through the air, the buzz on a frequency he'd almost lost his attunement to, the shock and the horror stole his movement for just a moment too long.

Bright bolts of light shot from the endlessly blue sky all around them, vaporizing the plant life straight down to the grass. Milanor yelped and jumped; Kylier whirled, her eyes going wide. Gulcasa stiffened, and Yggdra let out a little cry, clutching at his arm.

Nessiah held out the Revelation, but his fingers were shaking so badly that he fumbled the clasp, and before he could recover enough to actually open it, a strong mailed fist closed around his left arm and pulled it behind his back, jerking so hard that it wrenched his shoulder out of joint.

The scream just sliced out of him, razoring from a place deep inside his heart he'd tried so hard to deaden.

_"Nessiah!" _Kylier started towards him, but another hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, jolting her to a halt. She fought its grip, crying his name over and over; Milanor made for the man holding her, but a third grabbed him and held him back. Nessiah became aware that the flowered, deadly sharp edge of a spearhead was resting against his throat, already pricking his skin as he gasped convulsively through the pain. The blood was warm and sticky as it slid in a delicate line down the contours of his throat to soak into the collar of his robes.

Gulcasa swore, then reached towards his back pocket. He'd barely laid his fingers to the pactio card when yet another soldier kicked him viciously in the middle of his back. With one shallow cough, Gulcasa hit the ground and didn't get up, his eyes half-closed and swimming with dizziness.

_"Gulcasa!"_ Shaken from her paralysis, Yggdra dropped to her knees and shook him, the berries she'd held in her skirt scattering across the ground. "Gulcasa! Gulcasa, _please…!"_

It was useless; he'd already lost consciousness by the time she'd touched him. Still, Yggdra continued to beg him to get up, shaking him with increasing desperation.

One hot, terrified tear slid down Nessiah's cheek, then another. "Why are you _doing _this?" he whispered, knowing better than to struggle but unable to stop shaking.

The circle of angelic soldiers stood firm, completely ignoring his question, resplendent in their glittering platinum plate mail. The visors of their helmets were pulled down to obscure all but the uniform scowls etched across every pair of lips, and they stood wingtip to wingtip with their spears and halberds held at the ready. There was little way to tell one from the next, and while the sight of them was awe-inspiring, the crest on their mail made Nessiah sick with fear.

Because looking at that symbol brought back the memories. The memories of cruel hands, and laughter, and cold promises that yes, this was going to hurt. And his mind went brittle, as though any push might shatter it again.

"Yggdra Yuril Artwaltz," one of the angels said, "by order of our master of the Seven Magi, you are being apprehended as a danger to our peaceful Asgard. A power so great must not be allowed to exist within the mortal world. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

**(tsuzuku)**


	6. Gauntlet

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"Nessiah?"

At the sound of that voice, Nessiah stirred in the darkness.

"Nessiah. God, please, Nessiah."

Awareness hurt. Curling up inside himself, Nessiah drifted further. He didn't want to surface, not to all that pain. He'd just stay here, where it was safe, beneath the rippling blue.

"Please, God. Please. Nessiah. Wake up, _please…"_

Kylier. Nessiah's belly jolted a little. That was Kylier. He couldn't turn away from her.

He shuddered into wakefulness, color slowly blooming across his scope of perception, a sound that was not quite a groan, not quite a whimper escaping him.

The first thing he saw was Kylier's face. She was pale, and there were tearstains all down her cheeks; from the look of the red, swollen streaks just beneath her eyes, she'd been crying for a while. Still, she seemed unhurt, which was a relief.

The next thing Nessiah saw was the brilliant panel of metal, shot through with carved wire and indentations, that was the ceiling. And his insides went cold.

"…Kylier…"

Still half-sobbing, she laughed, wiping tears away. "Ness. Oh, thank God. I was starting to think that you were…" Her other hand clutched at her chest, and she didn't have to say it.

"Kylier, is this place…" He tried to sit up, and pain shot through his dislocated shoulder, sending sickness roiling through his body. He slid back against the cold metal floor with a moan.

"Here. Here, let me help you." Biting her lip, Kylier slipped her arm around his waist, slowly bringing him into a sitting position against the wall without jarring his left arm too badly.

Nessiah glanced around the room quickly, fear a hard cold ball in his belly. The place was a box, constructed completely of metal—that was anbisium steel on manalith wiring, if he wasn't very much mistaken. In the corner to his and Kylier's left, there was a very basic privy; in the corner to their right, there was a tap and a dingy-looking pewter mug. The wall across from them was open, but a heavy grate of metal bars carved with the most archaic form of the High Language Nessiah knew cut them off from the hall it opened into. The construction was a little fancier, a little colder than Nessiah remembered, but there was no mistaking what this place was. It was a jail cell—one of the highest-security containment cells in all of Asgard.

Staring around in a near panic, Nessiah spotted his treasured Revelation lying on the floor nearby, within the cell. That was not a good sign. Obviously if they'd left him with a spellbook this powerful, they—whoever _they_ happened to be—were very confident that he wouldn't be able to use it to escape.

"Kylier, what… you have to tell me what happened. I can't remember—must've blacked out along the way." At least, he hoped that was all it was.

Kylier sighed a little, hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked a little where she sat. "Those people—those angels, the ones who attacked us, they made a magic circle and they took us through it. I'm pretty sure that's when you fainted. Um, when we got here, they asked somebody in fancy-looking armor what they were supposed to do with us now, and they separated us. Yggdra got taken off by herself, and some of the other soldiers took Milanor and Gulcasa. Milanor was really fighting hard, but they didn't seem to care, and Gulcasa—he didn't get up. He was still unconscious, I guess."

_Or worse, _Nessiah thought, and the tightly contained hysteria he'd balled up in his belly started to seethe.

"They just—just locked us up and left us here. They put that weird collar thing around your neck, but they just left us here without saying anything, even though I kept trying to get them to tell me why they wanted us all. The bars—there's no door, they just came straight out of the ceiling, so there's no lock I can pick. And, Nessiah, this place really scares me. I don't think there's anything living here besides us."

Nessiah took a deep breath, held it, released it. _Calm. Calm and steady. I can't afford to go to pieces. Not here. Not now._ There was something tight around his throat, something that constricted his breathing. _A collar… she said?_

Raising his right hand, Nessiah felt at his throat and realized that there was indeed a heavy, thick band of what felt like rubber half an inch above the base of his neck. There was metal and glass at the front, above the dip in his clavicle, and a docking port for cords and key drives in the back. After a moment, he recognized it, and sickness hit him as hard as any physical blow.

"Gods. Gods. No wonder they left the Revelation."

"Nessiah, what is it?" Kylier asked quietly, her eyes huge in the relative darkness of the cell, the harsh lights in the hall ceiling outside haloing her from behind.

"This. I invented this. I can't believe they're using this on _me._ It's a device I created a long time ago, a containment agent for dangerous criminals who could use magic. It was supposed to be a humane approach." Nessiah tucked his legs close to his body and rested his forehead against his knees, shivering. "It completely diffuses any attack magic the wearer casts. This version of the device reflects it on the caster. Even with the Revelation, I'm all but useless here…"

"Nessiah—what's going _on?" _Kylier asked hoarsely.

"I don't know. I don't know. Those people—said they were taking Yggdra into custody as a danger to Asgard, but that makes no sense. What Asgard was worried about, the only thing it was ever worried about, was the Gran Centurio, and when Yggdra sealed it and then announced her intentions for Midgard, the gods deemed she was no threat. That _none _of us were a threat, and we were all allowed to continue on as we would have. This makes no sense at all. The gods don't just up and change their minds like this; they don't make decisions lightly. There would've been more deliberation than just a few months for them to do this."

Drawing a shaky breath and then releasing it, trying to keep processing it rationally, Nessiah continued thinking out loud. "What I think is more likely is that there's someone in Asgard, a powerful someone with influence, who has decided the gods are mistaken, and acted on it. Maybe impulsively. Now that they've got us, they're either keeping it quiet until their first opportunity to act, or they're trying to get through all the red tape. There are rules having to do with these things, and we have protectors in high places. Once they have it clear, they'll execute her. They're going to kill Yggdra, and keep what they see as her 'threat' from growing."

Kylier made a little distressed sound; Nessiah agreed with her wholeheartedly.

"I don't know how much time we have, but we must get out of here. If this isn't the gods' will, there are plenty on our side—Celina, for one—the woman who protected us from the guard at Heaven's Gate. We grew up together, and she was the only one to speak in my defense when I was accused all those years ago. If she finds out about this, she'll do all she can to impede the process, raise whatever hell she's capable of, maybe even track down the originator and bloody him up a bit. But we can't afford to wait around. We have to think of some way to escape, and find the others and make a run for it."

"If they find us…?" Kylier ventured timidly.

"Then I'll detain them. They can't kill me, at least not permanently. We have to find someone who'll help us get out of here. Meanwhile, I'm next to useless, and you haven't even got any weapons… the only one who can fight is Gulcasa; I doubt they'll take his pactio card…"

_There. _That was it.

Kylier shivered. "Nessiah? Why'd you get all quiet like…"

Nessiah bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, then sat up. "I can't believe I'm even going to ask this of you at a time like this, or knowing that no good can come of it in the long run, but—Kylier. Will you consent to contract with me?"

Kylier's mouth fell open, and she stared at him in shock. "You mean—a pactio, like you and Gulcasa? Here? _Now?"_

"I can't fight for us, and without a weapon, you won't do much damage to anything in here. Guards will be armored; the patrol sentries in this block will all be machines run on magic. My power will have to be the weapon, and you'll have to be its vessel. Kylier, I'm sorry. I don't see any alternative. I'm sorry."

"I'll do it, and stop apologizing," she said decisively, cutting him off. "Our lives are at stake here. You can feel guilty about it later. We have to save them."

Nessiah looked at her for a moment, taken aback, then sighed and nodded. "We'll likely regret this, eventually. But we don't have a choice. Before we do anything else—my arm…"

Kylier paled visibly, looking almost as though someone had spread a fine layer of flour across her fair brown cheeks. "No. No way. I'm not even a _healer, _so how—"

"It doesn't have to be perfect—just functional. When we're back at Karona, Flone can fix it." Leaning to his right, Nessiah gathered his legs beneath him and pushed away from the wall, presenting Kylier with his shoulder. The joint was wrenched around and visibly further down and back than it should've been; it made Nessiah feel ill to look at it for too long. "I can't do this myself. And I can take the pain. _Please."_

"Oh, God. Okay, I'll try. What do I do?"

"You can tell where it's supposed to be, just grab it and push—"

Kylier took a deep breath, and did. Nessiah tried to brace himself, but he couldn't hold back the scream. It hurt worse, far worse, for the ball of his shoulder to be forced back into its socket than it had for it to be pulled out.

But most of the blazing agony died once it was there, ebbing into a bone-deep ache instead. Kylier put her arms around him and held him close, rocking him gently, and he clung to her, taking deep gasping breaths as he trembled.

"Oh, God, oh, Ness. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright—I'm alright." Still, Nessiah didn't push free from her embrace. It felt good, so good to be comforted when you were afraid and in pain. "Kylier, thank you."

"Don't _thank _me, you idiot." Kylier laughed a little, squeezed him closer to her chest, then let go. "Alright—let's get this going, then."

Rubbing his shoulder—it was _sore—_Nessiah stood, then gathered up the Revelation and flipped it open to the pages that held the pactio glyph and the master copy of Gulcasa's card. "At least you already know how this works from my explanation last night. It's not as though we have the time to waste." With a defeated sigh, Nessiah put his hand over the glyph, which shimmered into being on the cold metallic floor.

Kylier hesitated for a moment, then stepped onto it, facing Nessiah. "So, now we just…"

Nessiah flushed bright pink. "…I guess."

Kylier shrugged, then set a hand on Nessiah's shoulder and leaned in.

It felt different from the last time. Nessiah hadn't known quite what he should expect, but this was nothing at all like his pactio with Gulcasa. It had nothing of the desperation or pent-up passion or the sexual charge of that kiss, and he felt neither its fear nor its sudden sense of helpless surrender. While he _did _get a little nervous flutter just below his ribs and thought _This is so weird _a bit uncomfortably, there was nothing in the soft, almost polite press of Kylier's lips to his that made him want to pull away.

The flare of magic between them wasn't the same, either. It wasn't as spontaneous, as bright, or half as powerful—it seemed more to Nessiah as though something familiar had clicked into its rightful place. _Well, yes, of course, _he thought dazedly. _Of course it has. _The magic was warm and sweet and supportive, and felt to him as though it had always been there, and he'd only just noticed its presence for the first time.

This was _Kylier, _after all. They were already so close; of course contracting them together felt like slipping a ring onto the finger it was wrought for. They'd just never thought to put words to the promise until now.

Kylier drew back and smiled; reluctantly, he smiled back.

There was that chiming sound again, the one he clearly remembered from his last pactio; Nessiah turned, deftly caught the card out of the air, and tapped it, incanting that oft-recited High Language phrase. It split; he handed the duplicate to Kylier, who looked it over with upraised eyebrows.

"Stick that somewhere on you—anywhere as long as you know you won't lose it." Nessiah traced a finger up and down across the back of his master card, and adhered it to the page that held Gulcasa's. "You don't need it right now; it doesn't seem like your Artifact is geared for combat, from what I see. All you need is a little boost."

"What about dismantling the circle?" Kylier asked, obeying.

"I don't particularly care about what the lingering traces of any of my spells might do to interfere with this prison," Nessiah answered with a grimly satisfied smirk. "If cleaning it up causes our captors even the slightest bit of trouble, it just serves them right."

Running both hands through her hair, Kylier laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And, damn, but we're lucky that I know how to throw a punch as well as I swing a stick. If you had somebody else here all unarmed like this, I dunno if it'd work."

"I'd prefer not to think about what-ifs at this point." Nessiah shifted the Revelation so he held it open in both arms. "I'm only going to give you a brief burst of power for now; if I supply you with too much of my strength for too long I'm going to run dry. While you're accepting my magic, deal as hard a blow as you can to those bars. It should break them easily."

"If you say so. I tried kicking them before, and it felt like I'd break my foot if I did it again," Kylier told him, resting her hands on her hips and staring at the bars critically.

"This may be uncomfortable at first, but we don't have time to let you get used to it—I'm sorry about that." Nessiah took a deep breath, then concentrated his magic into the Revelation. "Sis mea pars per 30 secundas."

Light roared up around Kylier. She flinched, then shook her head and took several leaping steps, skidding into a slide as she neared the bars, then pivoting on her left foot, swinging her right up in a perfect ninety-degree angle from her body as she leaned back. Her heel met the bars squarely as she yelled—there was a sound like an explosion, and a large section of the bars gave, collapsing into the hall with a groan and shattering in several places where they landed. Kylier stared at it in disbelief, and then the aura of Nessiah's magic around her body fizzled out.

"You never said it was like _this _for Gulcasa!"

"There wasn't any way to measure," Nessiah replied with a sigh. "With his Artifact and my magic—and the distance—all I could really see was that he was parting people from their limbs a bit more easily than usual. When we've activated the contract and you're putting all your strength into a blow, you're actually striking with a concentrated burst of raw magical power. That's devastating on both inanimate objects and flesh. And we've talked enough—we need to get out of here, find some alcove somewhere."

Kylier nodded, leaped lightly out through the hole she'd made, then helped Nessiah over the bars. They stood in the hall for a moment, looking back and forth across the shining metal corridors; Nessiah hesitated, then began to head to their right, glancing back and forth to try to find some kind of dead end in the twisting warren of the prison's lowest level.

Along the way, they passed a series of empty cells. It looked as though Kylier was right—there wasn't much life existing down here. When Nessiah had been sundered, Asgard had been well on its way to making the depths of its prisons fully automated; it seemed as though they'd made that leap in technology while he'd been in Midgard. That could either be disastrous or advantageous, depending on how he and Kylier were able to proceed.

"Ness! Over here—I think this one's safe!"

Kylier pointed to a long, thin corridor that ended in a solid wall. Sighing with relief, Nessiah ducked into it, looking around. This looked like it would be the operator's console—there were several cord jacks in the walls, and a few switches. If he'd known what they were for, Nessiah would've messed with them a little; as it was, he decided to leave them alone. One might be an emergency lockdown switch, for all he knew, or a failsafe that would set off the kinds of reactions that would essentially destroy this place completely.

"So what now?" Kylier asked urgently.

"You're going to need to stay there and keep watch for me. I'm going to try to hack the prison's database—if I get in, I'll be able to find out where the others are being held. It's a bit of a toss-up as to whether I will or won't, though—I haven't done this in a long time, and the system might be a lot more sophisticated…"

"Let's just hope it's the same as sex—you never completely forget the moves," Kylier joked, arching one eyebrow at him.

"How would you know? Go watch. Please." Shaking her head, Kylier did; Nessiah sat down against the blank wall and opened the Revelation to an empty page, then held both hands over it.

Well, it was now or never—there was no point in hesitating. "User Artwaltz requesting system connection," he said quietly.

There was a moment of silence, and then bright thin panels of light flickered into life under his fingers as magic stirred within his spellbook.

_"Voice print acknowledged. Yggdrasil online," _an automated female voice replied from both Nessiah's ethereal keyboard and the surrounding walls.

"Yggdrasil?" Kylier whispered, looking over her shoulder at him with a frown.

"The World Tree, the source of all life. Asgard utilizes the outer shell of its power as a console of sorts that supports our entire magi-electronic network. And it's useful for it to be that way—unless there's some kind of serious damage to the World Tree itself, the system never crashes. Now _please _keep your attention out there. I don't want guards to find us here." Kylier made a face and did; Nessiah pulled up a series of keys bearing the alphabet of the High Language and began to type—slowly at first, then faster and faster until his fingers were barely more than a blur.

Pleased at this, Nessiah let himself smile. Kylier was right—it _was _like sex. Maybe it had taken him a moment or two, but even after all these centuries, he hadn't lost his touch.

But only a few seconds after the thought occurred, a bright red panel flashed across his interface, and the automated voice spoke again. _"Clearance level 7 is required to access this information. Enter access code."_

Nessiah swore, then typed what he and his colleagues had been given all those years ago as a "black password", a failsafe that would get them into anything. It was a long shot, but he had to try it.

_"Incorrect code. Access denied."_

"Damn it, _damn _it…" Shaking with anxious fury, Nessiah backtracked, tried a different route, then another, still more roundabout one. Every time, he ran straight into the same firewall, and no matter what access trump he tried, he was shut out cold.

"What's wrong?" Kylier asked, though she didn't move from her post.

"All my access codes have been blocked. _All _of them. But there's no way that they should be able to do this, unless…"

Nessiah fell silent, unable to say what he knew: _That person _had known his passwords. Every single one. And _that person _could easily have erased them, probably had done so right at the very beginning.

"I can't get in," he said softly, bleakly.

"What do we do, then? Try to search ourselves, or…?"

"There's no point in that—we'd be here months; this place is like a rat warren. We need some idea of where to go, or we'll be lost in here for a long time…" Cursing again, Nessiah swept a hand over his interface, which blinked out as he cut his system connection. "So if back-hacking is no good, we have to come up with some other way to…" Nessiah fell silent as the Revelation's pages stirred, flipping back open to his pactio cards.

He stared at Kylier's card—particularly, at the item it depicted in her hands.

"…well… it's better than nothing. Kylier, would you try calling your Artifact?"

"Huh? Okay." Kylier reached to the back of her pants and pulled her card up from where she'd stuck it halfway under the waistband of her leggings. (How, Nessiah wondered with a smile, could he _not _love someone who did little things like that without even thinking about them?) She held it up, cocked her head and looked at it, then said "Adeat."

The card flashed, and then she was holding a silver hand mirror. It looked antique; its dull silver handle and the rim around the reflective glass were scrolled with curlicues and a heart shape at the very top. Across the back, the phrase _Ministra Magi Kylier _was inscribed in flowing, classical letters.

"Yes," Nessiah murmured, and then louder: _"Yes. _This could work. This will work! Kylier, that mirror—the Speculum Verus—it's a scrying tool! We can find them with this! Perhaps I was wrong—there _has_ to be some god looking out for us; this is too much for coincidence."

"Scrying… tool?" Kylier repeated, confused. "You mean, like… seeing the future and stuff like that?"

"More in the vein of finding things. I don't think this mirror is much good at reading the future. I'll teach you more about how to use it later; for now, just look into the glass and concentrate on how you want to know where the others are. It should show us some kind of picture that will help us look."

"…Uh…" Kylier shot him an uncertain glance; when Nessiah motioned for her to hurry up, she glared at the mirror. "…How am I supposed to…?"

"Here—let me talk you through it. Of course you wouldn't know; you've never tried to use magic before now…" Nessiah stood and tucked his spellbook under his arm, coming to stand beside Kylier with his free hand on her shoulder. "Close your eyes, now. It may help you concentrate better."

Kylier nodded, and did.

"First, do your best to envision the world and everything it consists of. The elements, and life—magic comes from inside us, but also from all around us. Once we have mastered the well of power inside our own bodies, mages like myself learn to shape the power of the world to our will. Life—yes, even here—is filled with energy with such potential; all you have to do is reach out to it. As a fighter, you're taught to juxtapose and balance yourself with the world; now, see that the world and yourself are inextricably tied together. The world and your self, no matter how small and insignificant you may believe yourself to be, are one."

Kylier made a face and giggled nervously. "This is confusing."

Nessiah smiled and leaned against her, cheek to cheek. "I'm getting to the point, don't worry. Now—just as you are part of the world, so am I; so is everyone else who has ever existed. Yggdra, and Gulcasa and Milanor too, are no exception. They're here—somewhere in this world, they're close by. Their lives are made of energy and light, just as ours are. You can find them, if you only look and listen hard enough. Concentrate. Picture them in your mind, and think of what they mean to you. And ask the world—_demand _of the world—their whereabouts."

Kylier chewed her lip, her hands clenching around the mirror's handle. Slowly, tiny flickers of light began to gather to the glass, and her reflection—and Nessiah's—wavered and went black. With aching deliberation, an image began to form in their place.

Nessiah gripped Kylier's shoulder hard. "You almost have it—just a little more…"

The scene in the mirror came into slow focus, depicting a shivering female form behind a series of bars almost identical to the ones they'd broken through. With one last flash, the image went crystalline, showing the perfect image of Yggdra cowering in the corner of her cell.

"You've done it!" Thrilled, Nessiah shook Kylier's shoulder. "Open your eyes and have a look—she seems to be on this level, somewhere close by!"

Kylier did, and stared. "…This is… wow. If doing magic feels like this for you all the time, I definitely get why you like it so much."

"You have potential—I wasn't sure it would work on the first try. This being your Artifact probably made it a lot easier, but still… I'm proud of you. You have talent; I might even be able to start teaching you some basic magic once we're out of here."

"Oh, shut up," Kylier said, but her blush clearly said she was pleased. "Hey—I can sorta feel where this is supposed to be. I don't know if it's a hundred percent certain, but I'm still pretty sure I can find her with just this."

"I'm impressed—it usually takes a great deal of training to do that," Nessiah told her. "We'll trust your intuition, but we have to hurry—there may still be guards about; the sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Right." Kylier reentered the hall, glanced back and forth, then went right. Nessiah followed along behind her, trying to match her confident strides with a brisk pace of his own. He didn't think once to second-guess her; he trusted both her and the magic far more than that.

Kylier jogged with utmost confidence down the corridor without turning until they hit a T-section, then turned right, took two lefts and another right, and continued on straight ahead. She kept one eye on her Artifact the entire time, as if checking its information against her path.

Nessiah gave her the lead, panting a little, his legs aching and his injured shoulder throbbing with an ungodly amount of pain. Still, even as tired as he was, he heard the electrical hum in the air as he and Kylier approached an intersection of corridors, realized what it meant, and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. The next moment, one of the mechanized sentry craft emerged into the cross-junction and turned towards them, its lens swirling in and out as it attempted to identify them in its database.

Kylier let out a little gasp and collapsed against Nessiah. "What _is _that?" she managed.

"Sentry machine," Nessiah told her, staring at it. It was a more streamlined design than the experimental units he'd been familiar with. The machine hovered some four feet off the ground, and was essentially a main console with mechanical hover devices like wings attached to its back and small cannonlike implements on either side of its rudimentary hands. These could fire bursts of raw electrical and magical energy at intruders—which not only carried a side effect of temporary paralysis, but could be deadly depending on where they hit. Its lens was green with a red target screen flashing over its glass, minute writing scrolling up and down over the eyelike circle as it perused Yggdrasil's database. "They're not alive—they're gears and cords and metal, animated by magic. Kylier, _listen _to me—we have to take that thing out now, before it attacks us!"

"Take… out…" Kylier repeated faintly, still staring transfixed at the craft.

"Strike it through the lens—the green thing that looks like an eye—and you should be able to destroy it in one shot! And hold on tight to that mirror—if you drop it you might lose the scry! Don't think, dammit, just _move!"_ And he gave her a good shove, opening the Revelation. "Sis mea pars per 45 secundas!"

Kylier stumbled and skidded on the cold metal floor, but didn't drop her Artifact, and was able to dodge and lunge past the sentry machine's guard as it wheeled its tiny cannons, attempting to get a target lock on her. With a wild yell, Kylier thrust her right fist straight through the console, which dropped to the ground in pieces, sparks crawling across the broken circuitry.

"Nice shot," Nessiah exulted, shaking a little from the release of tension. "Come on—let's hurry! Yggdra shouldn't be too far now, should she?"

"You don't have to tell _me _twice," Kylier retorted emphatically, shifting the Speculum Verus to her right hand and stretching out her left towards him. He took it, and they ran down the hallway hand in hand, finally entering one last corridor lined with cells.

And at last, in the very end one, they spotted Yggdra.

She saw them, too, and her eyes went wide. She gathered up her skirts and scepter, and rushed to the bars, laughing and crying from relief.

"Kylier! Nessiah! You're both alright! Thank God!" As they dashed the last few blocks, she clutched the bars tightly, presenting them with a watery smile. "I was so worried—how did you escape? Where are Milanor and Gulcasa? Are they safe, too?"

"The questions are gonna have to wait," Kylier puffed, though she grinned at her friend as she rested her hands on her knees. "We have to get you outta here, first!"

Nessiah nodded, and opened the Revelation again. "Yggdra, you'd best move back. This could be dangerous. Kylier?"

"Ready when you are," she returned with a wink.

"Sis mea pars per 15 secundas—"

He'd barely finished the incantation when Kylier plowed straight into the bars, shattering them and sending their pieces flying into the Queen's cage, rolling straight up to her feet. Yggdra stared at them for a moment, bewildered, then picked her way through the rubble and into the hall, where she threw her arms around Kylier, then Nessiah.

It gave him a little bit of a jolt, to be tackled so suddenly by someone he didn't consider himself that close to just yet. Still, Yggdra was warm in his arms, and she was shivering—and to his outright shock, Nessiah found the strong desire to protect and shelter her stirring in his heart.

Was this, he wondered, how parents felt about their children? Or was this closer to how Kylier and Gulcasa felt about him? It was strange—painful and sharp-edged, but so powerful, and very warm, like a welcome ache. Nessiah set it aside to dissect later, and held Yggdra for a moment longer before very gently easing her back.

"We're going to have to hurry," he told her in a low voice. "These people brought you here for their own reasons, which we can't know, but we can guess that they plan to execute you. Your existence is a threat to them. We need to find the others, and then some way to get out of here, before too many people realize we've broken out—there's not much time, and we've run into some trouble already."

Yggdra dried her eyes and nodded. "But… how will we find them, then? This place is immense… we'd never be able to search."

"We have that covered—you leave it to us. Kylier?"

Kylier nodded, then held out her Artifact again. "I think I've got the hang of it now," she informed Nessiah, and closed her eyes to concentrate better.

"What is she…?" Yggdra asked softly, turning to Nessiah.

"It's a long story—the short version is that we made a magical contract in order to get everyone out; I can't cast attack magic right now, so we didn't have much choice," Nessiah told her. "I'll explain the details later."

"Oh—you mean, a pactio contract?" Yggdra's eyes lit with comprehension. "Like the one you did with Gulcasa? I understand, then."

Nessiah flinched in shock. "He _told _you about that?" he hissed, color slowly starting to stain his cheeks.

Yggdra nodded, nonplussed. "Of course—just yesterday, a little before you and Kylier came in. Gulcasa said that without it, he wouldn't have been able to fight. Is something wrong? Shouldn't he have?"

Nessiah forced a smile. "Oh—it's nothing at all; don't worry." _When we get to Gulcasa, I am going to _kill_ him. Or at least hurt him, and make it something lasting and painful. What the hell goes through that man's _head _when I'm not around to make sure he's thinking properly!_

"…Got it," Kylier announced, making them both turn. "It looks different from this place—the walls are all stone instead of metal. Milanor and Gulcasa are locked up in the same cell. I think there are guards—I can't tell."

"Let me have a look," Nessiah ordered, pushing up next to her and looking over her shoulder. "You're right; this is one of the higher levels of the prison. We're deep underground right now—we need to find the stairs first. Do you think you can lead us there?"

"Uh-huh." Kylier nodded, looking from him to Yggdra and back. "I can get a sense of the direction. Come on, you two—no time to waste, remember?"

* * *

Kylier led her friends unerringly through the maze of the prison where Nessiah would've been lost for days on end, up three flights of stairs until the floors became tile instead of sheer metal, and there were lamps in sconces along the walls instead of long lights in the ceiling. They encountered several sentries along the way—all machines, no angelic soldiers. Every time, Nessiah lent Kylier brief bursts of magic to take them out swiftly, shielding Yggdra with his body in case they made it around her somehow. Whereas giving Gulcasa six straight minutes of using his magic had worn him out badly, he was sure he'd given Kylier something like ten minutes or longer and he was barely feeling the strain. This, then, was the way to build up his endurance with a partner until he _could _stand long transfers. Once they got out of here, he'd have to practice with Gulcasa and Kylier this way.

Still, all the running and all the _stairs _eventually grew to be too much for Nessiah's body—he wasn't strong enough physically to stand the continuous exertion. When Kylier and Yggdra realized that he was starting to lag behind, they decided despite his protests that it was time to take a break.

"I'm pretty sure we're on the right floor now," Kylier announced, checking the image in her mirror. "You can't really tell by looking, but I feel like we're getting closer."

"It's about time," Nessiah said irritably. "My shoulder's half killing me and I _hate _all this running around. And so help me, if Gulcasa's been harmed while we've been trying to get through this place…"

"He looks alright to me," Kylier pointed out. Nessiah ignored her.

"Um… may I ask a favor?" Yggdra asked suddenly.

"Like what?" Nessiah straightened up, leaning back against the wall. It was cool but not cold, and felt wonderful against his aching back.

"You two work together so well, and there's just been so much fighting… I'm well aware that I'm becoming a hindrance. Is it possible… would you mind…" She took a deep breath, then continued. "May I make a contract, as well?"

Nessiah nearly fell out of surprise, and just barely managed to catch himself. _"WHAT!"_

"Please! I want to help!" Yggdra begged, staring at him out of huge blue eyes.

Only a true monster could refuse that pitiful expression. Still, Nessiah looked at her critically, not quite believing his ears. "…Are you certain of this? We'll be out of here soon; a pactio isn't something that can be undone so very lightly. It's a commitment that will last for the rest of your life. Are you sure you want that with me?"

Yggdra was already nodding. "I know you would rather not burden others, but it's so hard to just sit here with no way to help. My magical tool may even be of use to me as Queen, the way that Kylier's is helping her now. Please—Milanor and Gulcasa are in _danger, _and I want to save them just as much as you do…" Her eyes went even wider, and she clasped her hands at her chest earnestly, begging with the whole of her being.

Nessiah _knew _he was being manipulated, and it _infuriated _him that he couldn't turn her away. He owed her too much already. "…If you insist, then. You have an understanding of how this is done?"

"Yes, more or less…"

Kylier cackled, clearly gleeful. _"God, _Ness—you're gettin' more action now than you've had in _centuries! _Aren't _you _popular all of a sudden!"

He growled at her. "Kylier. _Shut up. _Unless you really, _really _want me to tell her _all _your little woes with Milanor… _all _of them."

Kylier winced. "Okay, okay!"

Shaking his head and cursing to himself about humans who reveled in his love life far too much, Nessiah stepped away from the wall with a groan and opened the Revelation of the Gods, spreading his glyph at the ground beneath his feet. Yggdra thrust her scepter into the back of her sash and tightened it to keep the golden staff in place, then stepped onto it, holding her skirts down with both hands.

They stared at each other for a good few moments on end in awkward silence.

"Any time now would be…" Nessiah said in a low, grating voice, twitching a little from sheer embarrassment.

Yggdra went very red, and she looked down at the toes of her shoes. "I'm not really… um… that is to say, I _have, _but… I don't have much experience with…"

Nessiah sighed. "Fine. Then, I'll…"

But he looked at her, and couldn't bring himself to step forward—he just couldn't think of her like that, and when he tried to resign himself, he looked at her and saw his eyes, and his hands, and that one not-quite-cowlick tuft of hair that always flipped up in a lazy curl for them both. Could he really do this? It wasn't right, for _so _many reasons—

_But we're running out of time, and if I just stand here, she's going to start to wonder, and put two and two together…_ Nessiah fidgeted uncomfortably, wishing there were some better way to deal with this but knowing that he'd have to resolve himself sooner or later. Preferably sooner.

He leaned in just a little, watching Yggdra's downcast eyes.

_"You know, Nessiah, I… feel closer to you than I've felt to anyone else. Ever. Isn't that funny?"_

The voice, slurred with drink and tears, came back to him then, riding a wave of raw nausea. Nessiah froze where he stood, every muscle going tense, his insides clutching. Try as he might, he couldn't force himself to move.

"Oh, will you two get _on _with it?" Kylier said suddenly, and Nessiah felt a rough hand grip the nape of his neck. Yggdra squealed; she'd been grabbed, too.

"Kylier, what—" Nessiah began, indignant.

"Why are—nnph!" Yggdra attempted, and was sharply cut off.

Ignoring them both, Kylier had given them a good hard shove into each other, and held them there a few extra seconds for good measure. Nessiah bristled and Yggdra squirmed, but it was too late to back out now.

As Nessiah fought back the initial wave of nausea and cursed Kylier silently, he realized that this was again different from both of his previous contracts. The magic between him and Yggdra was pure and bright, and if it was a bit nervous, it held enough quiet power to offset it. That was what this was—potential, nearly limitless potential that had yet to be shaped. And Nessiah would be the one to shape it this time. He could craft a savior, or damn Yggdra as he had been damned.

This time—_this _time, he would do right by her. By all the gods. He couldn't openly acknowledge their blood tie, but he would do for her whatever he could. She deserved that much from him.

Finally, Kylier let go, and Yggdra jolted back, flushing bright pink. "I-I-I-I'm sorry—"

Nessiah gasped for breath, then whirled on Kylier furiously. "What the _hell _was that for!"

"We're getting kinda short on time, remember?" she pointed out as Yggdra turned her back, covering her face with both hands. As soon as her friend was looking away, her matter-of-fact façade dropped away, and real worry shone on her face. Sliding an arm around his shoulders, she murmured, "I could tell you were freaking out, and I know why you did better than anybody but you. I'm sorry. At least it's over with now—are you okay?"

Nessiah leaned and swallowed hard several times to try to fight back the need to be sick. "…I'll be fine… thank you."

As he straightened up, she held out a hand to him, offering this newest pactio card. Nessiah accepted it silently, then looked at it and stared, unbelieving.

"What? What is it?" Kylier demanded, then took a closer look herself and shut up, her eyebrows arching high. "No _way."_

"It's… not possible," Nessiah said flatly. "It shouldn't be possible. What _is _this? A copy—it must be, but how…?"

Having gotten herself back under control, Yggdra turned to them with a confused expression. "Is something… wrong?"

Nessiah shook his head, still staring at her card. "You are _not _going to like this," he informed her. "But I swear to you, it was not _my _doing. I swear to you. I wouldn't—_couldn't._ Gods."

"It's true," Kylier added quickly. "Even if he could do this, he never would. It was—the real one was way too important to him. He'd never do something like this on purpose."

Yggdra looked from Nessiah to Kylier and back, clearly uncomprehending.

In a shaking voice, Nessiah incanted the duplication spell, then held out the doubled card to Yggdra, slipping his master card into the Revelation next to Kylier's.

Yggdra took it, and saw, and let out a shocked little cry. Her knees buckled a little, but she caught herself, bearing herself back up as she stared with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

"I don't know how this happened," Nessiah said numbly, weakly. "This is—it's insane."

Yggdra just continued to stare down at her picture on the card—the picture that showed her hand on the hilt of the Gran Centurio.

"Guys—" Kylier first yanked Nessiah's sleeve, then Yggdra's. "You can stare some more later. I hate to sound like the heartless one, but we're way deep in enemy territory, not to mention in over our heads. Milanor and Gulcasa, remember? Can we get going now?"

Nessiah shook his head to clear it. "You're right—there are more important things at stake right now. Yggdra? We have to go."

Yggdra bit her lip and nodded, still seeming dazed. "A-alright…"

Still, when Kylier took off down the hall, Nessiah had to grab her by the wrist and drag her along with him to get her going.

Even though their running steps rang on the stone floor, no one came to investigate the noise. Kylier charged on down one corridor, then another, turning through increasingly more complicated patterns of rights and lefts, until they came upon yet another row of cells. Kylier didn't stop, but dashed on until the wall ended and hung a sharp right across the next row.

Until finally, Nessiah caught sight of the cell where they were waiting.

Milanor, sitting back against the wall with his hands on his knees and a disgusted expression on his face, did a double take and then was up hammering on the bars when he saw Kylier coming. "Hey! _HEY! _Kylier! The hell! Are you okay?"

"Of course I am, and shut up before somebody hears, you moron!" Kylier hissed, laughing at him nonetheless. She ran up to the bars and put her hands on his, leaning her forehead against one of the gaps. "You had me worried, stupid!"

"…Eh. I'm fine," Milanor replied, embarrassed, as Nessiah and Yggdra drew closer. "They didn't even tie me up. I can't figure out this door for the life of me, though, or I'd'a been outta here long ago lookin' for you."

Nessiah stared at the door, frowning. "The lock is key-card activated. Whoever's in charge of this floor probably has the card; it's a good thing we can just break these down, or you'd be cooling your heels in here for a good few more hours while we tracked him down. Kylier, would you do the honors?"

"'Course. Milanor, you better get back."

The thief boy blinked at her, then edged towards the wall. As he did, Nessiah caught sight of Gulcasa sprawled in a corner, to all appearances completely unconscious. At least, that's what he hoped it was. Stifling a string of prayers he thought he'd long forgotten, Nessiah supplied Kylier with a few seconds' worth of magic, and she kicked the bars in.

The next second she was through, dusting Milanor's ragged fur tunic off to a storm of his protests, scolding him for not getting far enough back. Nessiah climbed through the broken section of bars and knelt down next to Gulcasa; from the dragging steps behind him, Yggdra was watching a few feet away.

Gulcasa was breathing—if he were alone, Nessiah would've cried from sheer relief. As it was, he bit the brunt of it back, though his hands were trembling when he set them on Gulcasa's shoulders to give his friend a good shake.

"…" Gulcasa tensed under Nessiah's hands, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Uh—I dunno if it's a good idea to poke at him," Milanor pointed out from behind Nessiah. "He got hit pretty hard, and he's been out cold since."

Nessiah considered telling the thief that when he wanted an extraneous opinion he'd ask for it, but decided his energy was better spent trying to get Gulcasa up. He shook his partner's shoulder a little harder, leaning in low and softly saying, "You need to wake up _now. _I'm sorry—I know you're hurt—but this is no time to be sleeping. Our lives depend on getting out of here quickly."

"……" This time, Gulcasa opened one eye to give Nessiah a look that clearly said, Do I _have _to, even as he remained silent.

Nessiah sighed, rubbed Gulcasa's shoulder, and lightly pulled his hair. "We can all get some sleep when we get back home. They must be going insane wondering where we are—we have to go. If these people can, they're going to kill us all."

"I am _so sick _of all this damn fighting," Gulcasa growled, but he pushed himself up on elbows and knees slowly, swearing as the movement strained his back. A little worried, Nessiah pulled up the back of Gulcasa's shirt to see that there was a vivid purple bruise spreading along his spine, covering most of his back and extending down past his belt.

As Gulcasa raised one eyebrow, unamused, and tugged his shirt back down, Nessiah winced in sympathy. "Forget the sleep right away… you need to see Flone first. That looks nasty."

"I'll live." Levering himself up with a hand on Nessiah's shoulder, Gulcasa surveyed their companions. "Everyone's alright?"

"As far as it goes, yeah," Kylier volunteered with a sigh. "Hey, Ness, what the hell do we do now that we've got everyone?"

"We get out of here and run like hell," Nessiah replied. "Once we find somewhere safe outside, you can scry for Celina's whereabouts—I know she'll help us get back down. We just need to find a flight of stairs or two, and we're home free."

"Then we'd better get started," Kylier said, and stared into her mirror for a few moments. "…We're near the stairs to the ground level, thank God. Let's get going."

Nessiah didn't need to be told that twice. When Kylier hopped back out of the cell and took off, he chased after her, with Gulcasa, Milanor, and the shell-shocked Yggdra following along behind him. Sure enough, Kylier was able to get them to the stairs without incident, and was already halfway up them when Nessiah managed to get there.

The five of them spilled out onto tiled floor on the ground floor of a dimly lit, ill-furnished building with glass sliding doors and a series of pillars in front of them, on the outside.

"Doesn't look like anyone's nearby…" Milanor said cautiously, glancing around.

Nessiah flinched, seeing a small group of armored soldiers walking up the path leading to the jail compound. "No—we've got company! Quickly—does anyone see a place to hide!"

No one did. After the aimless mazes in the bottom levels, the simplicity of this ground floor had seemed to be a blessing, but unless they could think of a defense quickly, it would be their damnation.

"…It looks like we'll have to fight our way through," Gulcasa said, and pulled his pactio card out of his back pocket.

Milanor nodded, and doubled his fists. Kylier held up her mirror, muttered "Abeat", and slid the card back into the waistband of her leggings. Yggdra just looked to the others in a panic, clutching her own pactio card in both hands.

The next moment, the doors slid open, and the soldiers—there were about six of them—spilled into the room. Their relaxed expressions died when they saw their prisoners standing right in front of them, obviously prepared to spill blood for the freedom that awaited only a few yards away.

The soldier who'd come in first, who seemed to be the leader of the small squad, began to snap out an order.

Nessiah was faster.

"Ministrae Nessiah—Gulcasa, Kylier, Yggdra! Sis mea pars per 120 secundas!"

Gulcasa and Kylier both launched forward as soon as the magic flamed for them, Gulcasa summoning his Artifact with a yell. As the soldiers clattered backwards, fumbling for their swords, Kylier hit one so hard she put a dent in his breastplate, while Gulcasa struck at another. He wasn't so forgiving as his Vanir comrade—while Kylier had sought only to incapacitate, Gulcasa parted his opponent from his weapon arm, sending blood and the severed limb flying across the floor.

Milanor blinked owlishly for a moment, then darted in after them, lightly pulling an axe from one soldier's belt and swinging it. Without the extra power afforded by a pactio, he didn't do much damage to the angels, but he harried them, keeping them from being able to pay attention to Yggdra.

The Queen just stood still, frozen where she'd first seen the soldiers, her eyes huge with terror at the thought that she might have to take more lives.

Nessiah edged in front of her, flipping to the back of the Revelation and taking out his deck of Tactics Cards. He couldn't use any of his own offensive spells because of the collar, and probably not even any attack cards—he was giving too much of his magic to his fighters now, at any rate—but he'd be damned if he'd just stand here without being prepared to defend Yggdra in what ways he could.

Recovering from their initial shock, the remaining soldiers began to fight back in earnest. Gulcasa and Kylier neatly shut Milanor out of the defensive line, coasting on the waves of Nessiah's magic for as long as they could. The soldiers didn't seem to want to do any serious harm to a girl, and all but the leader were plainly afraid of Gulcasa, blood-spattered as he was, his eyes glowing wild gold with intense focus.

Still, they were angels, and Gulcasa and Kylier were mortal. They were kept so busy holding off the subordinates that the squad leader managed to circle around them, running straight for Yggdra.

Nessiah cast for a card, but before he could use one, Yggdra gave a shrill cry and staggered a few steps back. There was a pulsating echo of magical release, and when Nessiah turned, the angelic soldier skidded to a halt and tried to back up, staring at the tip of the Gran Centurio as Yggdra leveled it at him.

Her eyes were huge with horror, but grim, and she was biting her lips as if to keep from screaming. She was shaking, and she didn't seem as though she'd be able to hold the heavy sword up for much longer, but she held it out as though declaring that she would use it if she had to.

Spitting out a curse, the soldier continued to edge backwards. As he did, Yggdra very slowly lowered her blade.

The instant it touched tile, the man rushed forward again, his own sword pointed to kill.

Nessiah pulled Yggdra behind him and raised his chosen card, desperately hoping it would work for long enough.

"Sage wielding the holy scepter of war… let thy light shield the weak! _Shield Barrier!"_

The soldier's attack bounced harmlessly off the force shield Nessiah had summoned, and he swore, ranging back to look for a weakness.

As Yggdra continued to stare, Nessiah turned to glare at her, still holding one hand up to sustain the magic.

"What do you think you're doing? If you're not going to use that sword, then put it away and let the rest of us handle this!"

Yggdra flinched, but did as she was told, hiding behind Nessiah.

Gulcasa finished off two more soldiers, but instead of noticing the one prowling around Nessiah's barrier, he rushed to cover for Kylier and Milanor, who were barely dealing with the other two. Nessiah ran over the reel of every expletive he knew as he became aware that his hands were shaking badly, his magical vision beginning to stutter.

Gulcasa and Kylier's two minutes' grace ended. In the same instant, Nessiah's barrier died, and drained with the effort of expending so much magic without enough time to recover, he collapsed heavily, barely supporting himself with his hands.

But before the soldiers could make good on their opportunity, the doors slid open again, and the two men still grappling with Nessiah's ministrae and Milanor were enveloped in a curtain of bright scarlet flame. Their leader froze, and half a heartbeat later, there was a delicate hand at his throat.

"Dammit, what's the meaning of this?" he snarled.

"That's a very good question," a cold female voice replied. "Care to give me your answer?"

Nessiah managed to raise his head; seeing her there, he half-smiled, even as exhausted and hopeless as he was. "…Celina…"

"I'm only carrying out my orders!" the soldier protested, going pale. "Not even you can contest that—please stay out of the way!"

"Orders, is it?" Slowly, Celina stepped around him until her fingers were at his larynx; all Nessiah could see of her from his spot on the floor was a broad pair of peach-colored wings and the back of her flowing red robes. "Then here are mine to you: Get the hell out of here, and don't let me see your face for the next several days. If you intend to stay here, if you intend to bring harm to these children, know that I will destroy you."

The soldier edged back, cursing. "I-I'll report this! Your interference won't be forgotten!"

"Do that, won't you? It should be rather interesting for you to try to explain why you brought humans here in the first place, let alone why you were attempting to murder them here. I'm taking your prisoners into my charge, and _do _make it known that if anyone tries to interfere with them again in the near future, I _will _hear about it and there _will _be hell to pay. Do you understand?"

Rather than argue or answer, the soldier scurried off, running back out the doors without even looking back once. Celina turned and knelt, sweeping Nessiah into her arms and holding him close as he struggled to stay conscious, her lips at his brow.

"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry. I only just heard what these people were trying to do to you now; I would've been here sooner if they hadn't tried to hush it up. Are you hurt? Are _any _of you hurt?" She extended the question to their entire circle, glancing from one shocked face to the next.

Celina was not a tall woman or a particularly impressive one physically, but she had more force of personality than most of the angels of Asgard combined. Her dark auburn hair was cut short in back and slightly longer around her face, framing unremarkable facial features and striking crimson eyes. She was one of the most adept fighters and magicians in all of Asgard; she held the position of one of the gods' angelic council, the Seven Magi.

She and Nessiah had grown up together in the same orphanage, as had all the other angels who now sat on the council of the Magi. She'd been a sister to him, always his protector and confidante, and she'd been the only one to stand up for him when—_that person _had betrayed him all those years ago. She'd flown to the rescue when the Royal Army would've been eradicated by the angel guarding Heaven's Gate all those months ago, and here she was saving them again.

"No—none of us are hurt badly," Gulcasa answered for them all. "But what's going on here? I thought the verdict was that once Yggdra gave up the Gran Centurio, we were to be left alone by the heavens. And we've been well quit of this place—especially Nessiah; he's had to go through enough already. What's the meaning of this?"

"That's something I'd love to know, myself," Celina said grimly. "The only thing that's certain is that somebody's decided that the gods were mistaken in letting you all off so easily. Which they most definitely were not. I don't know who in the hell is behind this or who he thinks he is, but I'm damn well going to light this up like Yule until I get some satisfactory answers as to what's going on. You all shouldn't be here—I'm going to send you back to your world; your friends and families must be worried sick. I'll do my best to take care of things here—and I promise you that on my honor and Nessiah's life. But be careful—there's a lot of bureaucracy I have to punch through, and I'm sure whoever's behind this is going to try something or other underhanded during all this time." She shifted Nessiah a little, then dug in a pocket of her robes. "Here—you hang onto this for now, Emperor Gulcasa; Ness is going to be out cold in a few minutes and you can't really trust someone to keep things safe when he's asleep. This is a copy of my access card. If for whatever reason you find yourselves lost here again, that thing will get you anywhere and everywhere."

Gulcasa reached out to take the small card she offered, and pocketed it along with his pactio card as Celina growled curses and undid the thick collar that had been locked around Nessiah's throat.

"These people have got a lot of damn nerve, I'll give them that… there's going to be some particularly dead ass when I find out what's going on, yes there is." Finished, she tossed it aside. "As we're rather pressed for time, I don't know what else I can tell you." She stood, hauling Nessiah into a standing position along with her, and gave him a light push towards Gulcasa. Nessiah wanted to protest that he could stand on his own, but was too tired to.

Celina waved her hands at them. "Stand together—transportation spells don't work well when you're spread all over the room."

Kylier grabbed hold of Milanor and Yggdra and towed them closer to Gulcasa; the five of them turned towards Celina, not quite knowing what to expect.

"Castle Karona, right?" she asked, and was met with a series of uncertain nods. "Close your eyes. You'll be back home in only a few seconds' time."

As he didn't have that option, Nessiah pressed his face into Gulcasa's chest. It was wonderfully solid and warm; he needed that solidity and that warmth like nothing else. It felt as though a great deal of the world had lost its solidity when he'd found himself back here of all places.

If only one thing was certain now, it was that he and the others were in a lot more danger than he'd considered they would ever be in again.

* * *

Durant had chased castle officials and attendants up and down the castle halls all morning.

He'd interrogated several townspeople, then interrogated them again when he didn't get any satisfactory answers.

He'd sent search teams out to comb the surrounding lands, looking for any possible sign of human presence.

He'd spent hours and hours practically tearing his hair out, pacing back and forth in front of the castle gates.

In the middle of the afternoon, those gates swung open on a jittery and exhausted party—one that had left in such high spirits this morning.

Milanor had one arm around Kylier's shoulders, the other around Yggdra's. Thief and griffon rider looked worn-down and weary; Queen Yggdra kept twisting her hands in her skirts, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Emperor Gulcasa was covered in blood—thankfully, none of it seemed to be his—and walked stiffly, as though he'd taken one or two serious blows. Nessiah, holding onto his arm for support, was shaking badly and nearly wheezing for air, his face dead white. If energy were water, the fallen angel would have been bone dry.

Still, Nessiah let go of Gulcasa and took a few steps forward, regarding Durant and the anxious people of Karona with his blank blind stare.

"…We have a problem…" was all he said before he slid liquidly to the ground, spent.

**(tsuzuku)**


	7. Blue Rose

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

The Queen and Emperor's departure from Karona was delayed by a handful of days. There was a great deal of fuss about whether it would be safe for them to travel even so short a distance alone. Yggdra took about half a day to calm down from the shock of her Artifact and what she'd nearly done to the angel who'd tried to attack her; Nessiah, having expended far too much energy, spent a day and a half out cold, then another day and a half being fussed over.

After that, though, Gulcasa put his foot down. Celina had warned them that there might be more trouble until she was able to sort out what was happening in the heavens—and it was also possible that she might not be able to do so at all. And with that being the case, it would be a lot safer for Yggdra and everyone else involved to be at the capital city, surrounded by everyone who'd fought by her side. With some brief argument about Yggdra's current state—which was flattened when Yggdra herself weighed in on Gulcasa's side—Durant was forced to agree, and the Royal-Imperial entourage packed up and headed off.

Yggdra spent so much of the day-long ride to Paltina being worried over by Milanor, Durant, Russell, Cruz, and Russell's wife Flone that eventually even her placid temper was so stirred that she snapped at the lot of them. Gulcasa didn't say anything, but he kept a watchful eye on both her and Nessiah along the way. Kylier talked to Nessiah about things that had nothing whatsoever to do with their current situation, keeping both their minds off it. If Zilva was in any way concerned by the events that had preceded the journey, she didn't show it; she just closed her eyes and meditated the entire way.

When at last the castle came into view, there was a universal sigh of relief throughout the caravan. As the palace staff whisked away everyone's things to their rooms and welcomed the Queen and her entourage back, then greeted the Emperor a little stiffly, Nessiah surreptitiously gathered up his spellbook and wandered off.

Even so, Gulcasa spotted him retreating down the hall. He frowned and made as if to follow his friend; Kylier, also having seen, set a hand on his arm and shook her head.

"He's probably going to see Roswell. We should give them space—they have a lot to catch up on, and they deserve at least a little privacy from the rest of the planet. C'mon—you've got things to take care of too, right?"

"I _suppose…"_ Still, Gulcasa gave the corridor Nessiah had disappeared into another frown before he returned his attention to Yggdra and her fellows. Was it really _that _important for Nessiah to talk to a friend that he couldn't bother to at least say hello to anyone else?

* * *

Even through all its years, Castle Paltina never seemed to change significantly. Some pieces of art on the walls were replaced through the decades; every now and then a king or queen decided to tear up flooring somewhere or another because it was too old and damaged. Still, the palace layout never altered significantly—which was convenient for Nessiah. It meant that no matter how much time he'd spent away from this place, he could still always find his way whenever he came back.

This time was no exception. Nessiah made his way through the halls of the castle's outer wall with the absent-minded air of complete familiarity, and honed in on his destination with the same utter certainty Kylier had shown back in the prison at Asgard. Even those who ran the castle were only half-aware of this place; not many had any reason to go here. It was tucked away in a rather neglected corner, but with all the love lavished on it, one would expect to find it much closer to the center.

Nessiah never could remember precisely which member of the Royal Family had decided to sneak a tiny garden into one of the open spaces contained in the walls of his or her home or when it had happened. Still, whoever it was, he supposed he owed them his gratitude. This tiny place—one he'd ignored almost completely in the past—had become very dear to him in the few months before he'd left with Gulcasa, heading back to Bronquia for the winter.

As soon as he came into sight of the small arched entrance and the sunlight beyond, he was struck by the color. Against the pale gray stones of the walls, vines crawled artfully, reaching almost all the way up to the crenels above. And lower down, the walls—and a great deal of the open ground—were carpeted in roses of every color.

The traditional red claimed one corner of their own, along with orange roses in tones of fire and delicate peach, yellow roses, and pinks in a variety of hues. There were white roses and purple roses, and roses in steadily darkening shades of burgundy, until they ran into one solitary bush whose flowers' outer petals were pure black. The petals lightened around the heart of the blossom, running from burgundy to a soft, vulnerable-looking pink. True black roses like these were notoriously difficult to raise; roses were one of the very fussiest flowers, or so Nessiah had read, and to show a true black, roses required a very specific type of soil and certain sugars in their water. They also needed treatments of magic twice weekly until they flowered.

The bush with black blooms sat next to one that was flushed with beautiful blue flowers, the sight of which made Nessiah smile—half with indulgence, half with pride. It was only very recently that gardeners had discovered how to breed roses that were naturally blue—they were harder to coax than black ones, and needed to be given magic three to four times a week. There were only a few mages in all the world who had managed blue roses so far.

The gardener who'd been responsible for these knelt in the grass very close to his prizes, a pair of shears in his right hand as magic sparkled softly at his left fingers, moving from bloom to bloom. It was delicate work, or so Nessiah had been told; he waited at the mouth of the garden for the man to finish before he stepped from the shadow of the hall to the grass and the light.

When he did, Roswell of Branthèse looked up from his roses and smiled.

Nessiah had known his fair share of attractive humans during all the years he'd been trapped in the mortal world; in comparison to them, and even against most of the _angels _Nessiah had known, Roswell stood out. He was, simply enough, the most drop-dead beautiful man Nessiah had ever laid eyes on—though such a statement was hardly worthy of Roswell's beauty.

Roswell was tall for a mage—though Gulcasa was still a good six or seven inches taller—and stood a little over half a head taller than Nessiah. He dressed elegantly in blue silk robes with white piping—their soft lace-stitched collar reached halfway down his chest, to be pinned closed with the black rose brooch that was his prized family heirloom. They were slit up the side, along one of those white-piped three-quarter seams, to show that Roswell wore finely made breeches of the same color and black leather boots beneath them. His sleeves were trimmed with pearl-gray lace, and he usually wore tight black gloves of stiff molded silk that conformed perfectly to the contours of his hands. His long black cape was drawn loosely about his shoulders, pinned at one sleeve with his red skull brooch, and as he bent over his rosebushes again, he pushed the black silk beret he wore back an inch or so, preventing it from falling off.

Even with all the care he put into dressing well, Roswell would still have been heartbreakingly beautiful in rags. He had fair skin that stayed pale from hours indoors; like Nessiah, he had the perfect complexion for painful sunburns every single summer he spent time outside. He wore his enviably soft ash-brown hair spilled halfway down his back, cut shorter around his face to frame it. At the moment, his expression was mostly blank as he worked, though his plush pale lips pursed just slightly as he lifted one rose away from the surrounding leaves and buds and cut it a few inches down the stem.

Nessiah had heard more than one lovestruck young lady describe Roswell as having the face of a young god. And though he usually thought such women overly theatrical, in this at least he agreed with them—Roswell's features held the kind of perfection rarely found on human faces, with straight fair brows, high cheekbones, a nose that was straight but not prominent, and full lips that were a flushed-looking pale pink that would've been effeminate on another man. And when he looked at you, it had a way of driving every thought from your mind. Those long-lidded, soft blue eyes were so lovely it bordered on profane. They had an unusual shade, too—they were the blue of an unclouded sky, with just enough green in them to be termed aquamarine or turquoise. Nessiah had seen them hazed with tears, snapping with irritation, and bright and gentle with joy—and he had no qualms testifying to the fact that no matter who or what you were, you had no choice but to fall a little in love with those eyes.

After carefully shearing thorns and leaves from the stem of the rose he'd clipped, Roswell stood, smiled down at Nessiah, and softly pushed the angel's hood back with his left hand while tucking the rose into Nessiah's hair, delicately sliding the stem behind his left ear.

Nessiah couldn't help it—he blushed badly, unable to vocalize anything. It helped a little to remember that Roswell had this kind of effect on a lot of people—but not that much.

"Blue roses have always been a symbol of trying to attain the impossible," Roswell explained, tracing Nessiah's cheek with a fingertip. What blood hadn't already risen to just beneath his skin rushed there, flaming under Roswell's touch. "They make me think of you."

Nessiah ran his fingers gently over the soft petals, then let his hand rest over Roswell's as the young man cupped his cheek, tilted his face up. It was such a sweet, thoughtful, carelessly romantic gesture; Roswell was dangerously apt at walking right through all of Nessiah's defenses and touching his heart, leaving him feeling warm and tender and frighteningly vulnerable. Still—Roswell was on the very short list of people Nessiah trusted absolutely, so he forgave it whenever it happened.

"It's so good to see you," Roswell whispered hoarsely, and pulled Nessiah against his chest, holding him close.

Pressed up against Roswell so tightly that he could feel the young mage's heartbeat against his skin, Nessiah finally found his voice. "I've missed you, too."

For all his beauty, people who weren't particularly close to Roswell often remarked that he was cold, even arrogant. But those who knew him well were more than aware of how far that was from the truth—Roswell was nobly born, and had been taught as a child that to openly display deep emotion was rude and unseemly. Because of that, he tended to internalize the things he felt strongly, refusing to let them show in the public eye. But he had a sensitive soul, and repressing anger and despair had scarred him deeply. Maybe some didn't notice those scars, but to Nessiah they were painfully plain to see.

To some, fits of melancholy were just part of their temperament. To Roswell, they weren't—they were part of a medical condition few knew existed, and fewer knew how to treat. Emotional pain made him sick, reclusive; he would lose his appetite, and spend most of his days asleep or brooding over books. He'd even hurt himself before, trying to find some outlet for the self-hatred that nearly crushed him, traveling a lonely downward spiral towards self-destruction.

Nessiah, and a few others, were aware of this—and they looked after Roswell to the best of their abilities. Still, it didn't exactly help that Roswell was in love with—and often heartsick over—one of the most insensitive women ever born.

Not that he'd been aware of any of this—or that he'd particularly cared—during the war, when he and Roswell had first met. At that time, Roswell had simply been Lord of the Black Rose noble house of Verlaine, one of the Kingdom of Fantasinia's allies—which Nessiah had needed to prevent from coming to the former king's aid. Because Verlaine was a free state peopled by mages and scholars, and it was common knowledge that the prospect of learning and power was the best way to overwhelm any magician's sense of judgment, Nessiah had brought along a pair of Ankhs he'd created as amplifiers of magical power when he'd come calling. He'd given one to Roswell, the other to his distant cousin—and head of the White Rose house—Rosary of Esmeralda, and waltzed off, considering his daily quota of potential mayhem met.

Typically, Roswell and Rosary had each coveted the other's prize. They'd debated over them, argued over them, and finally gone to war over them. Which had successfully rendered them out of Gulcasa's hair for as long as it took to conquer Fantasinia—and it had had the added bonus of preventing Yggdra, the new wielder of the Gran Centurio, from having allies to run to who could pat her on the head, tell her not to worry, and keep her out of the way of the fighting. A neat and tidy affair, all in all.

Eventually, Yggdra had ventured through Verlaine and put a stop to the conflict just in the nick of time—the day before Roswell and Rosary would've met in battle and slaughtered each other's people, in fact. And by defending the both of them against Gulcasa's unruly general Leon, she'd won them over enough that they'd both decided to come along with her.

It wasn't until the confrontation on Ancardia that Roswell and Rosary had realized Nessiah had set them up, and neither one had been particularly happy with him for it. However, because Nessiah had then fought for them at Heaven's Gate—and by doing so, saved Roswell's life—in Roswell's eyes, at least, he had been forgiven.

(Rosary was another story. But then, she always was.)

Still, Nessiah and Roswell hadn't become close until shortly after that, when it had come to Nessiah's attention that _someone _was required to stop Roswell from getting in over his head with magic so sick and all-consuming that it was forbidden even to angels.

A good few years before Gulcasa's coup d'état, there'd been a plague through the middle of the continent. Lombardia and Fantasinia had both been hit, but Verlaine had suffered the worst of the disease. Many of the common people had died—and the heads of both houses had done what they could to stem the tide, running to and fro personally seeing to those who had fallen ill. Consequently, they'd all gotten the illness, too—so had Roswell, as at the time he'd been an avid student of herbal medicine and magic, a healer barely fledged. But while Roswell had recovered—and Rosary, locked into her towers by her parents, had escaped the plague entirely—his parents, the Lord and Lady of the Black Rose in their day, had succumbed.

Rosary had found freedom with her parents dead, and enjoyed her new authority. Roswell had loved his mother and father dearly, and their sudden deaths had come as a terrible shock to him. Emotionally reeling, left with no one who could reach out and pull him out of dangerous territory, he'd abandoned his work with plants and had thrown himself heart and soul into the dark arts of necromancy. Becoming obsessed with death and the afterlife, Roswell had struggled long and hard to find a way to truly bridge the gap between living and dying so that he would be able to bring his parents back, somehow.

Of course, such things were well beyond the power of a human. And Nessiah, becoming aware that Roswell was quietly and neatly going insane, had decided it wouldn't do to leave him alone and had consequently stepped in to talk sense into him. He'd ended up sharing his own soul and memories with Roswell to reassure him that the mortal soul could and did endure—something Nessiah considered his own existence to be ample proof of.

Because neither of them was the type to take such intimacy lightly, they'd developed an odd sort of friendship and then become very close. And Nessiah was a bit surprised to realize that, similar to the way he felt with Kylier, a weight he hadn't known was there had been lifted now that he was with Roswell again.

"There's so much… I have to tell you," Nessiah said at last, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "So many things have happened, and… I'm confused. I've told Kylier, of course, but… she's opinionated; you know how she is."

Roswell loosened his hold enough for Nessiah to slip out of it and nodded. "Yes… and, I confess, there are many things that I need to discuss with you as well. I've come to need you more than I realized." He tilted his head just slightly to the side, the midday light catching his eyes prettily. "My rooms… would likely be much more comfortable, if you'd rather." It was more a question than a statement, and Nessiah was well aware of what Roswell was really asking.

And, damn it all, Kylier was right—he _had _needed this. The explanation would just have to wait a little. "Yes," Nessiah replied, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Yes, I do believe that would be a great deal more comfortable for the both of us."

"Then, shall we?" Roswell smiled, and held out one black-gloved hand.

Nessiah readily placed his in it, enjoying the feel of Roswell's fingers curling around his palm. "Yes," he said again. "Yes, let us go."

* * *

Gulcasa, sitting at one of the tables in the palace's great hall, leaned back to take a look at the sky out of one of the long, thin windows. The sun was high, high up above the clouds—much higher than it had been when Nessiah had gone off on his own.

"What the hell is he _doing?" _he growled under his breath, resettling his chair irritably. "It's been hours already. Why isn't he back yet? We need to find a place to practice…"

Kylier, sitting next to him, gave him a good kick in the shin. "Like I must've told you a billion times already—Ness and Roswell have a _lot _to talk about. He'll be back soon enough. What do you care? You know he likes to take his own sweet time."

"He's missing lunch," Gulcasa pointed out defensively, but sighed and returned his attention to his plate. Kylier was probably right. Besides, there was little point in chasing Nessiah when he didn't care to be found.

* * *

Soft, clean linen felt as good or better on bare skin than the finest silk. The sheets and plush comforters that made up the bedclothes in Roswell's room were both, and the mattress was stuffed with just enough down and fleece for it to be softer than a dream. Nessiah luxuriated in their warmth, first stretching, then settling still, curling his toes into the folds of the fabric.

"You look happy," Roswell commented dryly from where he sat at his desk, slowly raising one brow as a self-satisfied smile played about his lips. Nessiah rolled onto his back and laughed.

"I want one of these," he declared, patting the mattress. "I don't care if it sounds selfish or petty; I'm tired of sleeping on beds that are harder than rocks. I bet this is so warm in winter…"

"It can be arranged," Roswell told him, clearly amused by the way Nessiah all but purred as he gathered the tangled sheets about his shoulders. "You'll have to spend a bit more time in your own rooms, of course, but…"

"I _would, _too, just for one of these." Sighing, Nessiah rolled again, stretching out on his belly and propping his face in his hands as he crossed his bare feet above him. "So. I hate to rain on such a magnificent parade, especially when I'm feeling better than I have in weeks, but—we need to get down to business. Do you have any thoughts on our current situation?"

Roswell sobered, and leaned forward in his seat, crossing his legs. He frowned, steepled his fingers, and began to speak slowly. "I'm not sure whether it's really _Yggdra _that's the problem now—or at least, she wasn't before her Artifact conveniently turned out to be some kind of duplicate of the sword she sealed away with all her pretty promises of peace and choosing the higher road. With that, she's given them an excuse to attack us, but… before then, despite her political influence, she was defenseless. That scepter is completely useless in battle; besides, none of us would raise a weapon again except to defend her life, or our own. Gulcasa—he might be seen as a bit of a wild card or a danger, especially because he's carrying his illustrious ancestor's soul in his body and isn't completely in control. Yet, if he were the target, why not go after him directly?

"Then, there's you—the newer generations of angels likely fear you, and the elders are prejudiced against you from the time of your sundering. You're a convicted traitor to the heavens, however justly or unjustly. You'd be a likely scapegoat; if you've tried to disrupt the status quo before, what's to keep you from doing it again? They wouldn't respect your word, or your promise to give the Queen her chance. Still, if it's not reaching to lay the blame on you, why not accuse you openly?

"I think there's a lot of merit in your judgment that some power other than the gods themselves is behind this plot, and that instead of just targeting one of you, it's the union of the three of you that has them worried—Yggdra with her great influence and all the lands conquered by Fantasinia at her fingertips; Gulcasa with his military expertise and Brongaa breathing down his neck, looking for any opening to seize a body of his own again; you, with your great magical power and your skill at manipulating others. If the three of you banded together and went astray, it could cause disaster across our world, and endanger the heavens as well."

Nessiah sighed again, long and exasperatedly. "And most of those whose allegiance is with Asgard are just stupid enough to believe it. Humans are lesser life forms, weak and flawed; nothing's to stop Gulcasa and Yggdra from repeating their mistakes. And me? I'm just trouble, plain and simple. The young, hot-blooded sort likely wouldn't think beyond that. As long as someone gives them the order that we're to be disposed of…" He shrugged. "The only question is who could possibly want us dead, and what reason they would have. It seems as though we'll need to think on it a little longer."

Roswell nodded agreement, then shifted. "And what about the other matter—the contracts?" As with Kylier, Nessiah hadn't left anything out of his explanation. While he did have a few secrets from Roswell, he still tried to be as honest with the young mage as he could while guarding them.

"Awkward. And confusing. And, gods… the one with Yggdra… I just couldn't help but compare, and I froze. Luckily, she was too embarrassed to realize it, and Kylier covered for me." Nessiah ran his hands through his hair and dropped his face to the sheets. "She doesn't need to know those things about me—about Paltina. She's carrying enough burdens already without having _that _in the back of her mind like it's in mine."

Roswell was silent for a moment; then he smiled a little sadly, stood up, and shifted to sit on the mattress next to Nessiah, settling a gentle hand on the fallen angel's shoulder.

"So… Gulcasa kissed you?"

Nessiah clenched both fists on the sheets. _"Please _don't start."

"I should think you would be pleased," Roswell said mildly, teasing a few stray strands of Nessiah's hair. "You've wanted him, loved him, for almost as long as you've known him. Haven't you? Or is it just too painful, being shown what you _could _have, and feeling as though you still won't have it?"

"I knew at least _you _would understand." Nessiah looked up at Roswell, despairing. "Even if Kylier is right, and there _is _a chance Gulcasa could reciprocate the way I feel… the things he wants from life are going to change in five years, in ten years. I'll stay as I am now while he needs to worry about family, and heirs, and settling down. He deserves someone he can have children with, someone who will grow old with him—someone who won't live every day knowing that every second that passes is another second towards a future where I'll continue to exist, endlessly, in a world without him. A life with me can't make him happy. And I would rather relive my sundering a hundred times over than see him unhappy."

Roswell stroked Nessiah's shoulders soothingly. "You're trying too hard to be selfless, when every part of you is crying out for him. You only consider Gulcasa's needs, with nary a thought to your own—Kylier and I only worry that forcing yourself away from him like this will break your heart." He hesitated, then added, "Or your mind."

"When you've lived as long as I have, and hurt as many people as I have, you can admit to yourself that your needs don't always take precedence over others'," Nessiah said flatly, sounding ancient and world-weary. "I fell in love, and ever since I've been unable to be as selfish as I once was. I can sit back and watch Gulcasa live his life with Yggdra—the one who can give him everything he needs—and I can be satisfied with his happiness." He sighed. "It's the part of me that's still nineteen and wants everything that's making this so difficult."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Roswell looked back down at Nessiah in consideration.

"May I see the cards?"

"The pactio cards?" Nessiah repeated, surprised. "Of course. Here—" He reached out to gather up his spellbook from where he'd left it on the floor, then opened it and flipped to the page where he'd attached the three master cards. Turning to Roswell, he offered the open Revelation freely.

Roswell accepted it and looked at the cards critically. "Very nice—these all seem to be powerful cards with strong values. And these Artifacts—well, I should expect nothing less from someone with your gifts. Of course they would be so valuable, in so many ways." He was silent for a moment. "I had a pactio once, did I ever tell you that? With Rosary, when we were children. We came across the spell in our studies and decided to give it a try, just for a lark. We wound up tossing a coin to decide who would take which role—I was the magister, and she the ministra. Rosary wasn't too happy with that, until I reminded her it would mean she was the fighter." He smiled at the memory, his eyes filled with regret. "The card was the sweetest little thing, and her Artifact too—a pink broomstick with charms and bells on it. We had a devil of a time trying to make her the copy. She had to have one, though—she loved that Artifact so much, she wanted to be able to play with it all the time."

"Roswell…" Nessiah sat up with a slight groan, leaning against the necromancer's side and sliding an arm around his waist. "You don't need to…"

"She was the one who ended it, a good five or six years later. We were arguing then… she took both the cards, hers and mine, and she destroyed them—tore them to pieces. She didn't seem to feel anything—she'd deadened her connection to me long before then—but I felt as though she'd just ripped my heart out of my chest. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe; it was hellishly painful. She didn't notice—she'd stormed out in a right fit of temper by then." Roswell smiled again, bitterly this time. "But it was beautiful while it lasted."

That statement was a fitting epitaph for every overture Roswell had ever made towards Rosary, Nessiah thought irritably. She strung him along for as long as it amused her, and cut him dead as soon as they ran into trouble along the way. Wrapped up in her own vanity as much as she was, she never seemed to realize when she ran his heart into the ground and trampled it. And Roswell loved her far too much to lay the blame for it on her shoulders.

It was Rosary's fault more than anything else that Roswell was this way now—his heart as fragile and brittle as glass, with thousands of hairline cracks running through it so that just one touch in the wrong place could make him go to pieces.

Nessiah considered it his duty to make sure that didn't happen anytime soon.

"I wonder…" Roswell traced the edges of Yggdra's pactio card, his eyes still distant. "I wonder if it isn't time to try again?"

"No," Nessiah said quietly, something inside him clutching.

"This thing with the angels isn't going to end anytime soon. You'll be in danger. After all you've done for me, I want to do what I can for you. That's fair, isn't it?"

_"No," _Nessiah repeated, louder and with a great deal more alarm.

"If I wanted you as my ministel, would you do that for me?" Roswell asked, his eyes suddenly disarming. "Would you be willing to make a commitment like that?"

"Yes, but _only _that way," Nessiah said sternly. "I won't allow you to bind yourself to me. You've done enough already."

"You can commit to me, but I can't commit to you?" Roswell demanded, just the lightest touch of scorn to his voice. "Really—what kind of logic do you have to justify that? Emotion, and nothing more. I owe you my life, and you are my friend—those things won't change with time. Why can't you trust that?"

Nessiah extricated himself from Roswell and scooted down the edge of the mattress, covering his face with both hands. "I just—don't want to burden you. Is that really so selfish of me?"

"Why is it," Roswell asked in a frustrated tone, "that you are so convinced that you must continue to walk down the road of your life alone, no matter where it takes you? Even if your body will never age another breath for as long as you continue to exist, your heart and soul are going to wear thin. You're old, and wounded, and so tired. You've lived long enough to know better than to kill yourself with pride. _Nessiah Artwaltz, you are not alone. _Not anymore.

"When you're able to keep walking on your own, that's fine. When your own feet can't take you any farther, you have friends who can carry you. I don't think you're a burden at all. Neither does Kylier, or Yggdra, or Gulcasa. We may not be here for you forever, but while we are here for you, we won't let you suffer alone."

"…" They were words some part of him had always ached to hear, but he could think of no proper reply to them. All he could do was sink into the sheets and cling to the shreds of his dignity, and refuse to let himself cry.

* * *

When at last Nessiah made his way into Castle Paltina's banquet hall, almost everyone else had gone from it. Kylier was still sitting at the table, and he slumped into the chair next to hers, resting his forehead against the table with a low moan.

"What is it? Why are you acting so depressed? Nothing weird's happened between you and Roswell, has it?" Kylier was instantly hovering, her whispered demands filled with nothing but concern.

"No," was all Nessiah could manage.

"Then what's _wrong? _Why are you moping in front of everybody? People are gonna stare!"

"My friends are idiots," he elaborated at length, sighing heavily.

"…" Kylier was silent for a moment. "'Fraid you're gonna have to give me more than that. And I'm not _that_ stupid, thanks. So what exactly did Roswell say or do that's got you despairing of humankind in general? He's not really known for having a lack of tact."

"…Roswell wants a pactio."

"Oh." Kylier's tone stated clearly that while this hadn't been what she was expecting, she should probably have guessed. _"Oh."_

"Much like Gulcasa and Yggdra, he's not hearing me when I tell him it's not a good idea."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Kylier asked. "And _don't _give me the whole 'Because-I'm-immortal-and-he's-one-day-going-to-die-on-me' spiel. I have heard it from you about a billion times already and I know that if I get you started with all the angst, you may never stop."

Nessiah was too drained even to glare at her; he just sighed again and stayed where he was. "If Celina can't settle this quickly, as Gulcasa suspects… and we come under attack… if Roswell is contracted to me, he'll be drawn into a conflict he otherwise wouldn't be involved in. And you know how Roswell is! He's so prone to getting into trouble over his head it's _disgusting, _and he's got just enough self-disregard to completely ignore any danger he may see coming. If he gets involved in this, it's going to get him killed. I'll never forgive myself if that happens."

Kylier made a face and nodded. "Okay, I definitely see where you're coming from. Still, knowing Roswell pretty well myself, I can tell you he'll probably still get involved, pactio or no. He feels that obligated to you, you know. And if he's going to be in trouble over his head anyway, it's going to be a damn sight safer for him to be contracted to you, isn't it?"

"That's true, and it's the same argument Roswell used on me when I brought it up. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't talk him out of it, either—I just can't make him see that he's risking himself unnecessarily."

"He cares about you, Ness. He's not going to let you push him away to protect him." Kylier reached out and lightly punched his shoulder. "It's not stupidity that makes us stick by you, dumbass—we love you. Is that such a bad thing?"

_"Why?" _Nessiah asked in a small, frustrated voice. "Why do you care? You know what I am, what I've done—why do I deserve anyone's love?"

"Nobody asked you to be perfect, Ness—we like you just fine the way you are," Kylier informed him. "Even if you can't, we see the good in you, and we're not leaving you to fend for yourself, no matter how loudly or how often you say you don't need us."

Nessiah was silent for a while.

"For nearly my entire life, I've been alone, and I hated it," he said at last, his voice little more than a shaking whisper. "Somewhere deep inside, I've always wanted to belong to something, to have people who care for me for who I am. Even when it was an inconvenience, even when it was _dangerous, _I never stopped wishing I had a family. But now that I have that—I hate having to live through all this fear that somehow or other, something's going to take you away from me. For so long, I've only had to look out for my own interests, but now… there's so much _risk _involved in this,and I'm worried about what might happen to all of you if you stay involved with my problems. _Why _is it so painful, being involved with other people?"

"But we feel the same way when _you _try to take on the world all by yourself," Kylier pointed out. "You're not dumb enough to try to keep me from getting involved, which is good—it'd scare me half to death knowing you were going into danger without me around to watch your back. Why d'you think I followed Yggdra and Milanor into Bronquia and nearly got myself killed in the first place? People can't do much on their own, but when we're all here for each other—dangerous or not—we can face the toughest odds and still win."

"…"

"And, hey, it could be worse, right?" Kylier prodded. "At least it's Roswell we're talking about. Aside from me, he's probably the only person you can do a pactio with without it being _super _awkward."

"Ordinarily, it wouldn't be awkward in the least. Thanks to Gulcasa's big mouth, though, when people find out what it is we're planning to do, they're going to want to come watch." Nessiah sighed. "And it's not as though I can just not tell anyone, because I need you, Gulcasa, and Yggdra there at the same time—I want to practice with you all for a bit, and you need to take the time to experiment with your Artifacts somewhere safe. We may not get the chance again."

"There's a cheerful thought. Where should we go to catch the show?"

Nessiah sat up and gave her a dirty look. "Tomorrow morning, in the courtyard. Be prepared to spend a good few hours there, too."

"No problem," Kylier told him, grinning. "It's not like we have any really important commitments, right?"

"I should hope. Is Milanor going to be on the guest list?" Nessiah asked with some distaste.

"Dunno. Knowing him he'll probably come to take a peek, but…" Kylier shrugged.

"I only ask because I know that if he sees me with Roswell, he's going to realize that I had to kiss you to contract with you. Which will definitely make him lose it." Sighing disconsolately, Nessiah rested his face in his hands. "Small blessings…"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last bit, and _not _remind you not to snipe at him because it's only going to make it take longer for him to get used to the idea of you," Kylier told him in a tone sharp-edged with warning. "Anyway. Since Roswell's a mage too, who's going to be whose partner here?"

"We're going to double—do two contracts so that the bond goes both ways," Nessiah explained. "It's a compromise, so that I'll be able to come to his rescue more easily whenever it is that he manages to get in over his head."

Kylier nodded. "Cool. And, hey, it definitely feels better that we're going to have somebody else who can help us with our little problem upstairs."

Nessiah shrugged, rested his arms on the table, and buried his face in them.

"I have very stupid friends," he said with a muffled sigh.

"No, you have friends who love you," Kylier corrected patiently.

Silence.

"Kylier?"

"Yeah?"

"…I'm afraid."

She slung a sympathetic arm around his shoulders and leaned into his side, resting her cheek against his hair and closing her eyes. "It's gonna be okay."

**(tsuzuku)**


	8. ways that you touched me

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

As Nessiah had predicted, there was a large group of curious onlookers present in the courtyard when he and Roswell met there the next morning. Aside from Gulcasa, Kylier, and Yggdra—the only three who'd actually been _invited_—all the commanders in the former Royal Army had decided to come watch, along with Zilva, Gulcasa's bodyguards, and a few denizens of the castle.

"Perverts," Nessiah said in a low tone. Roswell heard, and laughed.

"I'm not sure if _that's _really what they're here to see… they've all heard of the pactio spell by now, I'm sure, but I don't think _everyone _in that group knows it has to be sealed with a kiss."

"Durant, Russell, Cruz, Milanor, and Zilva all know, and I'm certain they've spread the word. I stand on my judgment that this is voyeurism."

Roswell laughed again, and tilted his head a little to the side, giving Nessiah his most charming smile. "It's not going to change what we're doing any, is it?" he asked in a light teasing tone, and reached out to stroke his fingertips across Nessiah's cheek.

Fighting the blush even as it rose to his face, Nessiah considered, then smirked and shook his head. "…No, I don't think it will."

And so, trying to forget that they had any extra audience members at all, Nessiah and Roswell headed to an open spot over the grass and stood facing each other.

"So, tell me, Master Roswell… how is it that _you _managed to convince our friend here to do a pactio with you?" Gulcasa asked in a teasing tone.

Roswell glanced at him with something that wasn't quite a smirk as Nessiah opened the Revelation to its pactio pages. "The trick is not letting him argue back, and pointing out that he's protesting for extremely illogical reasons. And it's never a bad idea to have a few items of blackmail in reserve, just in case."

Gulcasa and Kylier both laughed, and there were titters from the peanut gallery. Nessiah gave Roswell a tired, despairing stare; Roswell shrugged and smiled apologetically. With a sigh, Nessiah laid a hand on the pactio glyph; Roswell put both of his own over it and closed his eyes. Together, they put their power into the Revelation, and the glyph traced onto the ground beneath their feet in bright, elegant silver lines.

There was a quiet, sour murmur of "show-offs" from the crowd. Nessiah recognized the voice as Rosary's, but didn't turn to look. It would do her good to see what Roswell was capable of, especially when combining his powers with those of a stronger mage. And if she wanted to be a brat after having it pointed out to her that she was not and had never been the most talented magician in this world, then so be it. Let her stew in her own juices for a while.

If Roswell had heard Rosary's disparaging comment, he didn't show it. Instead, he simply opened his eyes, removed his hands from the Revelation, and smiled down at Nessiah. "Shall we?"

Nessiah sighed, wished unhappily that he could forget they were being watched, and set the Revelation off to the side. As this was a double pactio, he and Roswell would actually have to kiss twice; they'd agreed on the way here that first Roswell would give his pledge to Nessiah, then Nessiah would give his to Roswell. If the crowd hadn't realized that this was what they'd see—well, they'd just have to deal with it.

The glyph flared insistently, tossing the skirts of Nessiah's robes and the tail of Roswell's black cape, fluffing Roswell's hair up around his face attractively.

With another long-suffering sigh, Nessiah closed the distance between himself and Roswell in one step and rose up on his toes as Roswell leaned down.

Mindful of the crowd, Nessiah had intended to keep the kiss as chaste as those in his contracts with Kylier and Yggdra. But as their lips met—whether from temporary insanity or simple habit or just being caught up in the moment—Roswell let his part, yielding just enough that when the magic lit between them, all Nessiah could do was _take._

As the kiss that would otherwise have been gentle and sweet went heated, magic surged through Nessiah's chest, raw and painful as fresh heartache. The power was deep but not completely steady, rich with suffering and hope, dark and decadent and somehow rose-scented, fragile and sultry, and it was so fundamentally _Roswell—_as if the magic of Roswell's soul was standing with open arms and saying, _Here I am, this is all of me; take me or break me as you will, because I'm in your hands now._ And as the contract flared into life, Roswell trembled and gave an alluring little moan that had solid knots of desire forming in Nessiah's belly. It was a feeling that was normally reserved solely for Gulcasa, and it made it impossible for Nessiah to be sensible and pull away.

Roswell was the one who broke the kiss, giving them a chance to breathe before he leaned back in. Instantly, the lingering magic linking them flipped its polarity.

Nessiah staggered, and would've fallen if Roswell's arms hadn't been around him, bearing him up. There'd been a kind of _plunging _feeling in his chest, as though his heart had dipped sharply and then been drawn back to its proper place. Then there was a sudden _outpouring _of his soul, along with a terrible love and devotion: If only for this moment, he was wholly and completely in someone else's hands, trusting Roswell to hold him steady and keep him from going under and drowning in this sheer _vulnerability. _He knew very suddenly that he would do anything, go to any length, to protect Roswell now, to keep him alive and well and whole. What else _could _he do?

_Oh, _Nessiah thought faintly, shivering violently as he stood crushed against Roswell's chest, his fists clenched so hard in the front of Roswell's robes his nails were biting into his palms, Roswell's tongue in his mouth, knowing that if he had to stand on his own he wouldn't be able. It was too much. This was just too much. Had—all the others felt this same way, becoming _his _sworn partner? It was too impossible a thought to face.

As nerves played up and down Nessiah's spine and the pulls of lust in his belly solidified into a heavy, rock-hard ball, the horrible sweet pain in his chest worsened until he felt sure he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer. He felt Roswell's hands squeeze his shoulders, and finally, _finally, _the worst of it started to ebb away.

While Nessiah wondered at his sense of the bond—a dull ache in his chest, as though his heart were still tender over the shock—Roswell eased gently back, staring down at him through hazy eyes. The two of them continued to stand in silence, pulling themselves back under control, as the audience they'd forgotten they had stared incredulously.

There was a low whistle—probably Kylier—that would've infuriated Nessiah if he'd been feeling more stable; as it was, it only made him blush a little, frazzled and embarrassed. Still overwhelmed, he put his hand to his chest, half-expecting to actually feel his heart lurching beneath his fingers. Half a second later, Roswell's hand settled over his own, shaking a little.

Glancing up, Nessiah realized that Roswell looked exactly the way he felt—bewildered and vulnerable and looking for something to steady himself with.

"It—hurts," Nessiah whispered numbly, the shock making him unable to hold his tongue. "I… didn't think…"

"I had no idea it would be this painful, either," Roswell said softly. "It wasn't like this with Rosary in the least…"

Nessiah just shook his head. This was, without question, the most intimate magic he'd ever worked with anyone—even opening his soul to Roswell didn't come close. Maybe—_maybe _if his pactio kiss with Gulcasa had been… involved… like this, it would've been the same, but…

The sweet double chime of the cards appearing shook Nessiah out of his fugue, and he reached out for the one to his left as Roswell plucked the other out of the air. Looking at it, he realized he'd caught the card Roswell would be using as his ministel; its values were capable and much what he'd expected (though what was listed as Roswell's virtue made him smile—he'd thought it would be wisdom, but instead it was love; a sweet sentiment, and an appropriate one), but it was what Roswell was shown holding that made Nessiah stare despairingly, then start to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Kylier wanted to know from where she sat on the bench.

"It's not _really _that funny," Nessiah managed, shaking his head, "it's more pathetic. I should've been expecting this, after Yggdra's card. Still, it can't be helped. I've a feeling _Rosary's_ not going to like this one."

_"What?! _Why?!" This sudden, suspicious outburst was from Rosary, still at the back of the peanut gallery.

"You'll see soon enough," Nessiah told her dismissively, and copied the card, holding the duplicate out towards Roswell. "Here, get a load of this—Roswell?"

Roswell flinched and glanced up at Nessiah, pale and wide-eyed. He'd been staring resolutely at Nessiah's partner card with something very like horror, but not it exactly. "What?"

"Your card," Nessiah told him. Roswell accepted it without looking at it.

"Nessiah, you need to see this," he said in a low tone, indicating the card he'd been scrutinizing.

"It can wait," Nessiah replied, shaking his head. "Right now, getting you and the others accustomed to accepting my magic and using your Artifacts is much more important. I'll play with whatever shiny toy I myself have received after that's done."

"Nessiah, I _really _think you should…" Roswell insisted, still pale-faced.

"Later means later," Nessiah told him. "Now put it away."

Roswell shook his head, but did. Only then did he actually glance at his own card—the glance quickly became a stare; Roswell's brow furrowed, and the blood rose to his cheeks in a lovely flush that was more frustration than embarrassment.

"Well, I'll be damned," he murmured, going even redder.

"Try calling it," Nessiah suggested.

As the crowd shifted curiously, straining forward to see what it was that had Roswell looking so moody, the necromancer let out a long-suffering sigh and murmured "Adeat" very softly. His pactio card glowed, and shifted gracefully into a cross-shaped piece of metal that spread baffled murmurs through the onlookers and had Rosary giving an indignant yell.

In the old tongues of the mortal world, the word _ankh _meant "life", and had always been written with a peculiar symbol that looked like a capital T with a loop on the crossbar. Nowadays, the symbol and the word survived in the form of all-purpose magical tools that most artificers were easily able to construct. The ones Nessiah had given to Roswell and Rosary had been a bit more stylized and streamlined, with the lower sections of the cross tapered to daggerlike points and the loop a perfect circle of metal, rather than the traditional upside-down teardrop shape. He'd used a durable steel-based alloy in their construction; they'd been plain and the dull silver color of lead, but devastatingly powerful in the hands of mages as talented as Roswell and Rosary.

To an untrained eye, the Ankh resting in the palm of Roswell's hand would likely appear exactly the same as the one Nessiah had given him during the war. Nessiah himself knew otherwise. Roswell's Artifact was shiny, pearly silver-white—pure mithril, if Nessiah had ever used the stuff in his life—and "Ministel Magi Roswell" was inscribed in a slim, austere line of script down the vertical bar of the cross. It was also, Nessiah noted with grim satisfaction, substantially more powerful than his first Ankh, and attuned to him directly. Its ownership could never be disputed; its powers were shaped to Roswell's magic and his alone. Try as they might, other mages wouldn't be able to make it work.

"For two Artifacts to have ended up like this, it probably isn't just coincidence," Nessiah remarked. "The tools I make tend to form a bond with their users; it's quite possible that should I then make a contract with those users, they'll be granted an Artifact similar to whatever it was I made that they owned. For Yggdra, that means a copy of the Gran Centurio; for Roswell, it's this."

Yggdra, her eyes wide and stunned, let out a little sigh as she took out her own card and looked down at it. "Really? …So that's why…"

"So if you were to contract with Rosary, she would probably receive an Ankh, too?" Roswell asked, carefully holding his new weapon.

"Precisely. Like yours is now, hers would likely be attuned to her, and would have a function or two that would only be useful to her."

Apparently, that did it. Rosary stood up, scarlet-faced, and yelled "Oh, like _hell!" _before whirling dramatically and stomping back into the castle, slamming the wooden doors behind her.

Nessiah shook his head. "She'd probably cause more trouble than it would be worth with it, though; it's better this way. _You _at least are above the maturity level of a spoiled child, Roswell."

Roswell cast forlorn eyes on his partner and sighed sadly. He didn't deny the truth of the statement, though.

Kylier stood up and shrugged amiably, then crossed the courtyard to the two mages. "Well, now that the histrionics are over with…" She grinned and clapped Roswell warmly on the shoulder. "Welcome to the team, Branthèse!"

Roswell smiled. "It's a pleasure to fight beside you all."

* * *

It took a while to encourage the rest of the audience to leave, but eventually Nessiah got most of them to go by promising that he'd be spending several hours working with his partners and that it would get very boring for them after a while. The people of the castle trailed away quickly, and many of the Royal commanders also left. A few, however, stayed and wouldn't be dislodged.

Milanor, for instance, absolutely refused to leave Kylier and Nessiah alone together now that he'd seen a pactio formed with his own eyes. Nessiah contemplated telling the thief sharply that none of the other kisses had had nearly as much heat (or as much tongue), but decided it was hopeless and left him sitting glowering on the bench. Gulcasa's bodyguards stayed as well, more because they preferred to be where their Emperor was than anything else. Zilva remained watching from a tree for reasons she didn't choose to share, and Elena, her former protégée, stayed to be in her erstwhile teacher's vicinity.

Mistel, the Royal Army's former chief tactician and Nessiah's faithful chess rival, stayed out of desire to see what everyone's Artifacts were capable of, and promised she'd be long gone once she had. Undine girl Nietzsche lingered for curiosity's sake, and eccentric witch girl Pamela lingered for Nietzsche's. About this, at least, Nietzsche did not seem pleased. The two of them sat to either side of Mistel, and while Nessiah shooed the last of the extraneous onlookers off, she kept sneaking nervous glances in Pamela's direction. Pamela met each one with an enthusiastic grin that only seemed to make Nietzsche more fidgety.

However, when Nessiah returned to the circle of his ministrae, her attention fixed on him. Her left arm shot straight up into the air, and she waved it enthusiastically, wiggling like a schoolgirl waiting to be called upon.

"Yes?" Nessiah pointed at her, feeling as though he might as well indulge the girl.

Instantly, Nietzsche lowered her arm, clasped her hands together, and sat up straight, her wiggles subsiding. She was a little on the small side for her twelve years—though she'd be turning thirteen soon, as she reminded everyone whenever it was brought up—and possessed immeasurably wide blue eyes and soft, shiny lavender hair, which she pinned carefully into loops just behind her finlike ears every morning. From the waist up, she was a slight, fair-skinned girl; her hips and below was purely aquatic—a powerful tail ending in frilled white flukes, covered in glittery orange scales. Despite those scales, Nessiah had learned over his long years in the human world that Undines were like dragons—warm-blooded creatures, closer to dolphins and whales than the fish people usually identified them with.

Of course, Nessiah hadn't usually had much to do with Undines until the past year. At that time, he'd been busying himself removing Bronquia's enemies in the war against Fantasinia—Nietzsche's home country, the water nation of Embellia, had been a Fantasinian ally. To disrupt their stability enough that they wouldn't be able to join the fight, Nessiah had used a controlled soul to steal the artifact responsible for Undine survival—the Transmigragem. And in doing so, he'd indirectly caused Nietzsche's older sister's subsequent suicide: She'd been the Undine his ethereal soldier had charmed into taking it for him.

At Ancardia—as he'd been gasping out his pained last breaths in Gulcasa's arms—Nessiah had told Nietzsche exactly where she could find the jewel, as he'd hidden it on his island. Whatever else he was guilty of, he'd never intended to be the perpetrator of a genocide. And if he was dead and Ancardia submerged, he wouldn't be able to give it back to the Undines as he'd planned.

Nietzsche wore the sea-blue jewel now, suspended around her neck by a sturdy black cord. Like the sensible little girl she was, she'd decided not to take any chances with the thing this time around, and was intending to be the best guardian the artifact had ever had.

Nessiah never knew quite what to make of Nietzsche. He didn't know what he'd expected from her other than hatred—he'd all but killed her sister with his own hands—but instead, she tended to follow him around quite cheerfully, pestering him out of sheer adoration the way Nessiah imagined a younger sister might. It baffled him. Maybe she'd forgiven him on the basis of the whole saving-her-race thing, but as Nessiah had meant to give the Transmigragem back anyway, he'd been sure her sister's death would influence her attitude more. He'd been wrong.

"Ne-ess," Nietzsche piped brightly, lengthening the nickname into two syllables, "these pacty things are cool! Nietzsche wants to do one!"

Nessiah nearly fell over. "No, no, absolutely _not!" _he managed with some semblance of sternness once he'd regained his composure.

"But _why-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y?" _Nietzsche's eyes went even wider, and she let her lips form a slight pout. "Nietzsche wants an Artifact, too!"

_Oh, no you don't. I fell for the big eyes when it came to Yggdra, and just look where that left me. _"Because," he said aloud, grinding his teeth, "whatever my faults, I will _not _have 'Lolita complex' listed among them."

"Lolita… com…?" Nietzsche repeated, tilting her head to the side in abject puzzlement.

"Oh, my." Covering a giggle, Mistel patted the girl on the shoulder. "We'll explain it when you're a bit older, Nietzsche dear."

Nessiah crossed his arms and tried not to huff too embarrassedly. "Besides, it's bad enough already having Gulcasa and the others involved in this. I won't have you dragged into it, too."

"Buuuuuut…" Nietzsche whined pitifully.

Seeing her chance, Pamela leaned around Mistel like a vulture swooping in, holding out both arms as if to pull Nietzsche into them. _"Pamela _will pactio with you, Nietzsche!" she announced with glee.

Nietzsche squeaked and hid behind Mistel's shoulder. "Iyaaaaaaa, noooooo!" she wailed.

As Mistel gently separated the two of them, Kylier laughed and whacked Nessiah on the back. "You sure are popular these days."

_"Please _shut up."

* * *

Nessiah looked down the line of his partners, from one to the next. Gulcasa was standing with his arms folded and an impassive expression; Kylier watched Nessiah expectantly with her hands planted on her hips; Yggdra fiddled with her skirts and glanced around; Roswell just stood silently and comfortably, waiting for Nessiah to act.

"As I'm sure we've all noticed by now, the longer I transfer my magic to you, the sooner it burns me out. To train—both to build up my endurance and just to get you all accustomed to accepting magic from me—we'll just deal with short bursts of power for now. Are you all ready?"

"Any time now would be cool," Kylier drawled, grinning.

Nessiah shook his head and opened the Revelation. "Ministrae Nessiah: Gulcasa, Kylier, Yggdra, Roswell—sis mea pars per 25 secundas."

A fierce white halo of magic rippled down their line from Gulcasa to Roswell, flaring brightly and then settling to a slightly more sedate burn. Gulcasa hissed and arched his back a little, rising onto his toes; Kylier just closed one eye and flinched. Yggdra let out a little squeak of "ah!" and went bright red, gripping her skirts; Roswell smiled and closed his eyes, letting all the tension drain from his body.

"Is this _ever _going to stop feeling so weird?" Gulcasa complained in a tone that clearly said he was nettled.

"And why doesn't it bother _you _at all, huh?" Kylier asked bitterly, leaning around Yggdra to make a face at Roswell.

"None of you are used to using magic, which is why it feels strange to you," Roswell replied. "I've lived and breathed magic for my entire life, so to me this just feels warm. If you practice with the pactio cards and spells diligently, it should start to seem more natural for all of you, as well."

The next moment, the magic around them hazed out. Gulcasa, Kylier, and Yggdra all visibly relaxed; Roswell smiled and gave Nessiah a sidelong glance that was nearly smug.

Nessiah understood well. Of course it hadn't hurt that he and Roswell were already very accustomed to working even the most intimate of magic together, blending their powers to create works neither was capable of alone.

Still, he knew better than to acknowledge it aloud at a time like this, so he just went on. "Now, there are three functions of pactio cards other than just being proof of a contract. First, they can be used to establish a telepathic link between me and the current holder of your card. Second, I can use the master copies of these cards to summon you instantly to my side from great distances. And third, there's the function you're already aware of—calling your Artifacts. There are a series of spells that you can all use with your cards, too; we'll get into those at a later date. We'll just work with the magic transfer for a while longer, and then you get to play with your Artifacts."

And they did—for nearly an hour on end. By the end of it, both Zilva and Elena were gone from their perch, and Pamela had wandered off bored even though Nietzsche hadn't left—the Undine girl was asleep on Mistel's lap. Milanor, too, looked sleepy, but he still had that determined scowl that said he wouldn't be budged for anything.

Yet even after all that time, the only one remotely comfortable with the aura of magic Nessiah imparted was Roswell. When Gulcasa gave the necromancer a jaundiced glare and told him flatly to wipe the smirk off his face, Nessiah decided it was time to try something else.

"…Alright, that's enough. Evoke your Artifacts."

Looking considerably relieved, Gulcasa and Kylier did. Roswell's tranquil expression didn't change as he called his Ankh; if he was still troubled by his Artifact's nature, he hid it well. Yggdra was noticeably more hesitant, and waited half a beat after the others to call upon her copy of the Gran Centurio.

"Flamma Imperia, Speculum Verus, Crux Lucis… and, well." Nessiah sighed. "Or the Imperial Flame, the Mirror of Truth, and the Cross of Light, as they'd be called in the common tongue. Each of these tools is powerful, and made for specific uses that you must master in order to use them properly.

"Gulcasa—you're better off trying to find a few good training dummies from the courts and practicing on them than swinging that scythe around out here. As its name implies, your Artifact has some very incendiary properties—and until you learn how to focus your power properly to burn only that which you intend to burn, it'll be safer for you to be on sand. When I'm done working with the others, then I'll check on you and give you a few tips."

Gulcasa nodded and went off in the direction of the castle without another word.

"As for you, Kylier—you've already gotten in practice with your Artifact, and know how to use it. It has a few other functions, but they're similar to the one you already know—for the moment, you need to work on scrying the locations of things so that you become more familiar with the process and faster at it."

"So how do we do that?" Kylier wanted to know.

"I could dress it up with fancy terminology if I wished, but the gist of it is that you're going to play hide-and-seek with Milanor for the next hour or so, and you're going to cheat."

"Huh?" Milanor sat up. "What about me?"

"As I'm going to be busy, I don't think we have anyone Kylier is more suited to work with than you," Nessiah told the thief, and meant it. "She's comfortable with you, and she's known you for long enough that you'll be easy for her to find. In addition, she's already scried for you once before, and she knows how to look for you." _And because I love her, I can forgive her lapse in taste in considering you dear to her._ "What you're going to do is this—choose a starting point somewhere, and Milanor will find a hiding place anywhere across the castle and grounds. You're a thief, so do whatever you can think of to baffle the trail. After a minute or so, Kylier will then scry for Milanor and track him down when she has his location. You two can also consider this an exercise in getting to know the capital city better.

"Actually—Mistel? Would you mind going with them?"

The tactician shook her head. "No, not at all. You want someone to keep track of how long it takes Kylier to scry each time, right?"

Nessiah smiled, and almost praised the gods for mortal cleverness before he stifled the reflex. "Yes, exactly. These two will most likely have their minds on other things." And it wouldn't hurt for them to have a chaperone, either.

With that decided, Nessiah turned to Roswell and Yggdra. "Now—you two. Roswell already knows this, so I hope he'll forgive me for the reiteration, but magic is something that exists both in living creatures and in our surroundings. The difference between a mage and a mundane—those incapable of using magic—is the fact that mages are born with an instinctive knowledge of how to tap into that magic. It's possible for the mundane to learn certain forms of magic through instruction, but it's hard and thankless work and their magic is never as strong.

"With a ministel or ministra, it's a little bit different. Whether you're a mage or a mundane, once you possess an Artifact, you're capable of using whatever forms of magic it grants you no matter what your prior experience level is.

"Now, magical tools are things that most mages have to use in order to allow us to use magic. It's possible for strong mages to use spells without catalysts, but it's much easier to access power when you have tools that can help you do it. This is why hedgewitches and those without much natural power are forced to use complex rituals and herbs and stones as catalysts, to allow them greater access to magic. In order to be a combat mage, you must have substantial magical power, because in battle, there is no time for rituals. Still, combat mages usually wear special robes or amulets along with their wands and staves in order to help them focus their strength.

"The magicians you've fought alongside—and those you've fought against—have all been top caliber, Yggdra. Rosary and Pamela need only a few charms and their brooms to cast amazingly destructive fire and sleep spells. You've watched Flone heal with only a staff and her bare hands. The only magical tool Roswell uses, aside from the Ankh he had when you first met, is his ring."

When Yggdra glanced at Roswell curiously, he held up his right hand obligingly, showing her the emerald in its gold circle on his black-gloved finger. It had been made by some artificer Nessiah hadn't known—someone who'd actually had some skill, and craftsmanship. The delicate weave of the ring itself was a little showy, and if it hadn't been magically reinforced, the gold would have worn down long ago. Still, Nessiah liked the smooth cabochon cut of the emerald, and over all the years the ring had been in Roswell's family, it had accrued a vast amount of power.

"As for myself—the Chains of Conviction interfere with my magic, but I do what I can to compensate for it through Etherion. These clothes are woven of a fabric that automatically converts the magic in the air into power I can use. Using them, I'm _almost _at the power level I was before—before. Aside from that, the only magical tool I ever use is the Revelation, and I can cast without it if I have to.

"Yggdra, you need to know these things because you are going to be learning a few serious magical spells from me, and you're going to need to tap into the power of your scepter to use them, instead of just that of your Artifact. Because I'm going to do what I should've done when I first came to this world—I'm going to teach you how to use the Gran Centurio _properly."_

* * *

"I never knew that there _was _a different way to use the Gran Centurio," Yggdra said a little bewilderedly. "I was always taught that it was little more than a weapon, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, should I?"

With everyone else gone and working on their own projects, the Queen sat on one of the courtyard benches, with Nessiah and Roswell to either side of her. Roswell had put his Artifact away; he was playing assistant to Nessiah's magical professor and would be working with Crux Lucis after they'd taught Yggdra a few things about her Artifact.

"Because you grew up thinking that way, you never got the chance to see the Gran Centurio the way an outsider would," Nessiah told her with a nod and a wry smile. "It has such a history in this world that in this era, no one really could. But it's rather unwieldy, isn't it? Even when you saw me use the real one at Heaven's Gate—that sword was made for me, and none could have used it more fully—its size makes it awkward. Set on its point, the sword is as tall as I am. Even to those it's blood-bonded to, the Gran Centurio is heavy, as well. Those things mean that it can do a lot of damage when it hits, but especially to a novice, it's no kind of weapon for battle. It's too slow to be practical.

"The Gran Centurio was never meant for battle—not really. The reason I shaped it as a sword instead of a staff was because a big double-edged sword like this is forged in the shape of a cross. The form of a crucifix can symbolize both faith and suffering; in this instance, making a cross-shaped implement is making a hallowed implement. I didn't have to tell humans all this for them to start calling the Gran Centurio a holy sword, mind. It's something most people recognize subconsciously."

Yggdra made a face. "It seems very obvious, when it's put like that. So much so that I have to wonder why I didn't think of it before."

Nessiah just shook his head. "When children who grow up in a sheltered environment are taught to believe things, it's rare for them to question those beliefs. They just accept, after a cursory inquiry here or there. Your father and the court that surrounded you in your early years imparted to you the Gran Centurio's history as a weapon. Maybe you initially thought it was funny for a big sword like that to have done so much, but it was accepted so widely as truth that you accepted it, as well. It's similar," he added as an afterthought, "to the way I once believed that corruption in the heavens was a blasphemous impossibility. The difference is that no one ever told or showed you differently, while I was forced to see the reality of things."

"…Nessiah…?" Yggdra was looking at him worriedly; Nessiah reminded himself that she wasn't privy to the sordid details of his sundering and exile.

"Never mind me. Actually, you've used the Gran Centurio as it was meant a few times already, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm referring to the instances at Welheim, Castle Bronquia, and Ancardia," Nessiah explained, interlacing his fingers and leaning back as he privately sighed in relief. "From the descriptions of those events I've heard, I have no doubt that you were able to activate the Gran Centurio's original functions without even knowing you were using them. In each circumstance, you found yourself able to 'hear' the true thoughts and emotions of others, weren't you?"

Yggdra nodded slowly. "I'm—not sure how exactly it happened, but…"

"Because I haven't been in your head, I can't be sure, but I'd say your desperation and your desire to understand the perspective of those you fought awakened the sword's latent properties. That's what I originally forged the Gran Centurio to do, you see—it was a tool that was meant to help people understand one another."

Those big blue eyes went wide with astonishment. "Really?"

Nessiah tried a smile, but the cynical taint to it made it a grimace. "At the time, I was as foolishly idealistic as any. Like any naïve child, I dreamed innocently of world peace."

Distress creased Yggdra's face, and she reached out to touch at his hands anxiously. "But…"

"I may be helping you, but make no mistake, I've been thoroughly disillusioned of the possibility that the world or even just the mortal world could ever find true peace." Nessiah shook his head. "There is always corruption, or dissent, or even just natural disasters that shatter it even as it forms. You deserve the chance to find it out for yourself. I still think that if there's anyone who could even come remotely close to achieving it, it's you."

Yggdra still looked like she wanted to argue, but Roswell put a hand on her shoulder and held her gaze evenly when she looked at him.

"Nessiah has more reason than most to despair of society," he said quietly, gently. "From what he's shared of his past to me, there's really no surprise that this is the way he feels. We may not agree with him, but we have to respect that his days have been filled with horror and heartbreak, Yggdra."

"Roswell is perfectly correct, but we're here talking about your Artifact, not about me." If they didn't stay on the topic at hand, Yggdra might stumble upon a few of her nastier family secrets. And no matter how Nessiah disparaged her beliefs, he didn't want that shiny innocence of hers dented or damaged in any way until it came time for her to lose it in adulthood. "This sword is very similar to the real Gran Centurio, but it has a few subtle differences. For instance, the runes on the blade are personalized to you instead of me, and where my family name was written on the crosspiece, here we have the script identifying you as the Artifact's owner. It's similar to the power levels and properties of the Gran Centurio when it was forged.

"Essentially, aside from its heft and weight, this sword isn't particularly useful in battle. It will accrue strength based on how it's used, but you can't use it as an effective weapon. I doubt you'd like to use it like that, and I don't want it used that way, either. If only for me, please evoke this sword _only _when you are in mortal danger or when you intend to use its rightful powers."

Yggdra's eyes softened. "You have my word," she told him gravely, and then she looked down. "I know… the Gran Centurio meant a great deal to you. If there's anything I can…"

Touched, Nessiah laid his hand on hers. "I lost the Gran Centurio because of the way I treated it. Don't think otherwise, or try to pretty up the truth with platitudes. Honestly, it just helps me to know that you understand how I feel."

Yggdra nodded; Roswell smiled sadly.

"I have to go make rounds to check on the others soon, but—for now, I want you to try to use this of your own will. I'm going to concentrate on a memory; hold your sword and focus on the desire to understand what it is I'm thinking about. If you think you have something, then tell me."

Yggdra wrapped both hands around her Artifact's hilt and frowned, closing her eyes and furrowing her brow. Her intensity almost made Nessiah smile as he watched her nibble her lip for several moments on end.

Finally, she relaxed a little and opened her eyes. "I think—you were thinking about someone very dear to you. Um—Lady Celina, wasn't it? I'm not entirely sure, but it seemed a little to me like a childhood memory… hazy and nostalgic." She glanced down at her hands, distressed. "What was much clearer to me was that it hurt you to think about it."

In the three previous incidents, Yggdra had reportedly caught actual thoughts, and experienced only the vaguest of feelings. Here, though, she seemed uncertain about Nessiah's thoughts but had picked up the intricacies of his emotional state with ease.

Either way, he was proud that she'd been able to accomplish this with only his lecturing and a few previous experiences to base her attempt on.

"It's been a very long time since I was able to feel so at ease and at home," Nessiah explained with a regretful smile. "I was a child then, and I was able to trust so easily. Celina has always been a sister to me, and even now I feel safe with her. You've done very well for your first try, Yggdra. You can put it away now; I'd like to try something with Roswell before I collect the others."

Yggdra did so, and Roswell stood up, softly calling his Artifact.

"What would you like to test with me, then?" he asked, tilting his head prettily.

"You already know how to use an Ankh for most of its properties, but I'd like to see if it can manage to stimulate your latent abilities as well," Nessiah said as he got up to speak with Roswell more easily. "Because of the way your studies were—interrupted, let's say—your education and training in a few areas are still incomplete. I'd like to see what your Artifact can do for those."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I'll show you. Do you have your beltknife?"

Roswell did, and he held it out to Nessiah with a perplexed expression. When Nessiah calmly flipped the blade out of its sheath and used it to open a deep slice down the inside of his arm, that confusion turned abruptly to shock, and Roswell wrenched the knife out of Nessiah's hand, stashing it away. Grim-faced, he held his silver Ankh in one hand and ran his fingertips over the slash as both his hands began to glow. When Roswell's fingers passed over the wound, it closed, leaving perfect unmarked skin behind.

Pleased, Nessiah smiled up at his partner. "That was good," he began. "Even better than I had reason to ex—"

But his praise was cut off when Roswell seized his shoulders and shook him, those aquamarine eyes pale with fury.

"You _fool! _Why did you _do _that?!" Roswell demanded sharply, harshly.

"You're angry," was all Nessiah could say. "Why are you angry?"

"You and I _both _know very well how dangerous it is to inflict a wound like that! If I hadn't been able to heal it, you could've done serious damage to your nerves, not to mention the amount of blood you would have lost! What were you _thinking?!"_

Thoroughly puzzled, Nessiah tried to shrug Roswell off. The necromancer only tightened his grip. "I—was fairly certain you would be able to…"

_"'Fairly certain' _isn't good enough! Nessiah, you could have done yourself serious harm—over something you could have tested any number of different ways! How _could _you think to manipulate me like that? I would have happily tested my healing skills on anything else, had you only asked!"

Nessiah wanted to defend himself, to explain that the knee-jerk reaction of Roswell's attempt to heal him was what he'd intended to test—if he'd asked beforehand, the reflex factor would have been lost—but the sheer rage in Roswell's eyes and the severity of his tone withered the thoughts before they made it to Nessiah's throat. "I don't understand," was all he could say.

And just like that, Roswell straightened up, a terrible pity mingled with frustration crossing his face. "You _don't _understand," he said despairingly. "And why would you? Knowing that, I can't even explain it to you. I just hope—you'll understand it someday. Oh, Nessiah." And Roswell's arms were around his shoulders, pulling him softly in. "I can't help but fear for you, the way you don't think about yourself. I'm sorry." He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Nessiah's cheek.

Confused and uncomfortable, Nessiah pulled free and retreated, heading for the practice courts to where he knew Gulcasa was waiting for him.

* * *

With his partners, Mistel, and Milanor gathered back at the courtyard, Nessiah faced them and folded his arms behind his back. "I hope you've enjoyed today's exercise, and the chance to explore your new abilities. Especially because we're going to have to do this several times a week."

There was a nearly universal groan throughout the listeners.

"You don't have options. Whether or not you like thinking about it, there's _someone _in Asgard who's determined to see Yggdra dead. And those of us who have the power to step in and defend her have no choice but to make certain we're familiar with that power. I have enemies in the heavens. _We _have enemies in the heavens. And you know from facing me and your battles at Heaven's Gate how powerful those enemies may be, yes?"

Fidgets and grimaces from the groaners. Nessiah settled his hands on his hips and stared at them, long and levelly.

"That said, I expect to see you all back here the day after tomorrow. Mistel, your presence is optional; you may select someone to replace you if you wish."

Mistel shook her head and folded her hands on her kirtle. "That's not necessary; I'm happy to help if this is to protect Her Majesty."

"Alright, then. Now, unless any of you have any questions…"

"Nessiah?" This was Roswell; he stepped forward as he said it, wearing a perturbed expression.

"Yes, what is it?" Nessiah asked with some trepidation. He didn't know quite what to expect after Roswell's strange behavior earlier.

"Will you _please _take a look at this now?" Roswell offered the pactio card he'd been patiently holding on to for the past few hours.

"Oh. Oh, _that." _Feeling foolish, Nessiah held out a hand to take it. "I'd completely forgotten. What is it you were so concerned about?"

"If we had a chair I'd tell you to sit down," Roswell murmured, hesitating to actually place the card in Nessiah's hand. "As it is… just brace yourself, alright?"

Not sure whether to be offended by Roswell's assumption that his sensibilities were that delicate or amused that the necromancer was so flustered, Nessiah plucked the card from Roswell's fingers.

He stared at the image for several seconds without its meaning sinking in, and when it finally did, his knees buckled. He would have fallen if he hadn't remembered Roswell's warning and locked his muscles.

"This—" His voice shook as he said it. He was beyond caring. "This—there has to be a mistake. This can't be right. This—can't happen. The Gran Centurio—Roswell's Ankh—but this. No. It can't be."

"Nessiah." Roswell's voice was gentle but insistent. "You have to try it."

"I can't."

"Listen to me. I agree that there might have been a mistake, but if there _wasn't—_you have to try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—isn't that right? Please. Just invoke the spell. Give it a try."

Hope—and the terror it spurred—was more a prison than any binding Nessiah had ever suffered. He wanted it to be true, more than he wanted to see _justice _done—but at the same time, he was afraid of what would happen if it wasn't. "I… can't."

"It's just one word," Roswell cajoled. "You're more than strong enough to say it."

Nessiah turned his back on his puzzled audience, still gripping the card in shaking hands. "It's easy for _you _to say that. I can't… I…"

"Try," was all Roswell said.

And he did, even though he could barely voice a whisper. "A… ade… adea…"

Tears burned at his ruined eyes, and he shook his head. "I _can't."_

"Then let me help you," Roswell murmured. Gentle hands prized his fingers apart, and Roswell took a step back, holding the pactio card up to his lips. "Exerceas potentiam."

First there was a sound like ice snapping, then a bright chime like the massive shattering of glass. In pain that bordered on ecstasy, Nessiah arched up on his toes with one short cry as every link of the Chains of Conviction broke, and the fragments of metal evaporated into splinters of light.

Then there was the soft _puff_ soundlike a heavy blanket unfolding, and an explosion of feathers—black and white. Through their haze as they rained to the grass, the captive audience were able to glimpse, and realize the miracle that had been born of Roswell's magic.

As the last of the feathers drifted sedately onto the grass, Nessiah remained with his back turned to them. They watched as he stood in absolute silence, then as he held up his hands as if staring at them in disbelief.

And they watched as he turned disjointedly, staring at them through eyes glassy with shock.

Reflex had folded his heavy wings at his back after they'd first spanned at over twice his height—the purest white at his left shoulder, the deepest black at his right. He stood before them whole and unbroken, set free, the skin of his face perfect and unblemished by even the barest hint of a scar. And the tears pooling in those wide, innocent, endlessly blue eyes said quite clearly that even now he couldn't grasp it, was afraid to believe it.

Those tears began to spill, and his shoulders began to shake. Still, despite the panicked incomprehension on his face and the hitch starting in his breath, no one could move.

But as he wrapped his arms around himself and slowly began to rock from his heels to his toes, Gulcasa shook off his paralysis and crossed the grass to Nessiah in slow and gentle steps. Stopping in front of his partner, he opened his arms wordlessly; Nessiah fell into them, clinging hard, his pale hands tangled in the fabric of Gulcasa's cloak and his hair. And with the sound half-muffled in Gulcasa's shirtfront, he quietly began to sob.

**(tsuzuku)**


	9. balm for broken glass

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

When Gulcasa headed down for breakfast the next day, he was immediately greeted by Kylier, Roswell, and Yggdra standing in a tight half-circle with uniform expressions of worry on their faces.

"How is he?" Kylier asked hoarsely.

"Asleep," Gulcasa said with a sigh. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad for it. He needs all the sleep he can get, after yesterday. I've never seen him that badly in shock before."

The previous afternoon, after Roswell had released the powers of their contract, Nessiah had clung to Gulcasa for almost an hour and cried so hard he'd seemed like he would shatter. No one had known quite what to do, so they'd just stayed there—all four of Nessiah's partners fussing and soothing until he quieted. And even then, Nessiah had only had a few minutes to stretch those glorious wings and revel in his sight before the spell had ended, and his chains had reappeared.

Gulcasa didn't think he would ever forget how Nessiah had screamed—almost as much in despair as in pain.

And he'd lain there, still as a broken doll, until they'd realized that he'd passed out. With the others still hovering anxiously around him, Gulcasa had carried Nessiah down to Flone—who'd proclaimed that Nessiah had fainted from severe physical and magical exhaustion.

Roswell had gotten that little "aha" look on his face then. Gulcasa still didn't know what to make of it, and while he did hope that an explanation was on its way, getting breakfast and getting it quickly was highest on his agenda.

Evidently understanding this, Kylier, Roswell, and Yggdra didn't speak but just trailed Gulcasa in single file as he collected a few plates' worth of food and sat down.

"I'm bringing him extra in case he wakes up soon," Gulcasa elucidated as they all sat on the opposite side of the table. "And I'm heading back up there anyway; I can work from his room. He hates to wake up alone."

"While you were playing mommy, Roswell figured out part of how Ness's not-really-an-Artifact works," Kylier remarked, putting her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. "Wanna hear?"

Gulcasa's mouth was full, but he waved his hand in a "by all means" gesture.

"I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but as we all noticed yesterday, instead of an Artifact Nessiah has been awarded a spell that temporarily relieves him of the effects of the Chains of Conviction," Roswell said. "This result can only be evoked once per day, and currently its range of effect is only one hour. I was distracted—we all were—so I wasn't able to completely analyze it, but I'm fairly sure that this limit can be increased over time. And as we already saw, while there's no cost to Nessiah's energy while the spell has been activated, when its effects cancel, the penalty to his magic is severe.

"His emotional state probably contributed to his collapse, but… if, say, Nessiah were to use this in battle, he would be able to maintain a much higher level of performance but would be entirely drained of magic afterwards. In addition to whatever injuries he would have suffered already. This may represent a chance for freedom to Nessiah, but it can also be dangerous if we don't remember these things."

"You can tell all that just from having seen the spell used once?" Gulcasa raised his eyebrows and stacked his plates. "Impressive."

Roswell smiled and shook his head. "Nessiah specializes in artificing; my strengths are in spellcraft. I'm nowhere near as good a judge as he is, but these things at least we can guess."

"I'll make sure to tell him when he wakes up," Gulcasa promised. "It should do a lot for his mood, to be able to free himself for a while every day."

"I'm sure it will," Yggdra murmured. "He tries not to speak of it, but the way he always does anyway—it's so plain to see that he's been hurting. I have to wonder what he could possibly have done that merited this punishment, and if it was really fair…"

Kylier and Roswell exchanged troubled glances, and Roswell was about to speak when something behind Gulcasa caught his attention. The young necromancer stood, raised a hand, and smiled. "Good morning, Rosary…"

"Oh, shut up!" came the snapped reply. "Don't even talk to me, you jerk!"

The smile froze on Roswell's face, and he started to lower his hand. "Er… Rosary…?"

"And don't you give me that look like you've got no idea what you did wrong! _God, _you're so dense it's a wonder you've managed to survive at all—even _with _everyone constantly having to rescue you! Moron! It makes me _sick _the way you run around with your nose in the air like you're better than everybody else!"

"But I—" Roswell tried to protest, clearly confused.

"Shut _up! _Shut up, shut _up, _shut UP!" As Gulcasa turned to give Rosary a dubious stare, he saw that the witch was clearly working off a well-built-up head of steam—she was red-faced and a vein was standing out in her bunched fist.

Gulcasa supposed that Rosary was more than pretty enough, with her voluptuous curves, shiny strawberry-brown hair, and dark pink eyes. And she was certainly talented; over the course of the war, the witch's fire magic had decimated the Empire's troops. Still, the way she acted—around Roswell in particular—always rankled something in Gulcasa's eyes. Besides, looks weren't everything—Yggdra was much cuter because of the way she acted, and had a far warmer heart. You could never have accused Yggdra of being selfish, but you could never have accused Rosary of being anything but.

Still, while Gulcasa had never gotten all the details, it was clear that she and Roswell had a history, and that Roswell cared deeply for her no matter what she felt for him. And because Roswell was Nessiah's friend and Rosary so casually, callously liked to hurt him, Gulcasa had difficulty tolerating Rosary sometimes.

"Rosary, _please…"_ Roswell first massaged his temples, then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing despairingly.

"Please _nothing, _you pompous ass! Don't you _dare _just stand there like a little saint feeling sorry for yourself, you son of a—"

Because her shrill insults were beginning to grate in his ears, sending annoyed little pulses up and down the muscles of his arms, Gulcasa stood and planted his hands on his hips, giving Rosary a flat glare. "You need to leave. Now."

Rosary whirled around to glare daggers at him, but it was nowhere near enough to intimidate a man who regularly dealt with far worse from his little sisters.

"There are children sitting near here who don't need to deal with your profanity and your poor attitude over their breakfast. Whatever it is you're holding against Roswell, deal with your withered pride somewhere else—the rest of the castle doesn't have to be involved in it. Leave. Yggdra may be too polite to remove you…" here he let the muscles of his right arm bunch up demonstratively "…but I'm not."

Those little red spots of rage darkening on her cheeks, Rosary whirled on her heel and stomped off.

As he sat back down with a shake of his head, Kylier whistled long and low. "Wow. I didn't know that was even _possible."_

"You forget, I live with Luciana," Gulcasa pointed out. "And I had Leon to deal with at one point; he was significantly worse. More importantly—are you feeling alright, Roswell? Sit. Championing you will have done no good if you let yourself get upset over this. Nessiah will have my head and more besides if I leave a job half-done." He reached out and clamped his hand over Roswell's shoulder, forcing him back down into his seat.

"I… I…" Roswell sighed and rested his face in his hands, his shoulders slumping.

Wearing a distressed expression, Yggdra touched lightly at his arm. "Roswell…"

"Just forget about it," Kylier advised with a troubled grimace. "Rosary's just pissing at you 'cause she's jealous about your Artifact and she feels like she got upstaged. You know how she is—you've had to deal with her longer than any of us. Don't let it get you down."

Sitting up, Roswell forced a smile. "Yes—I know." Gulcasa rested his chin on his knuckles, staring at the necromancer levelly. His face looked untroubled, but for the misery that was hard and dark and tight in his eyes—if Roswell wanted to fool them, he still needed to work on his act a bit more.

Perhaps realizing that his façade left much to be desired, Roswell stood again. "I'm… going to head back to my rooms now. I have a lot of work I still need to do, and I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite at the moment. Please excuse me." With a shallow bow to Yggdra and Kylier, he went, leaving his erstwhile companions staring after him.

"This can't go on," Yggdra murmured, her voice soft but decisive.

"I know what you mean," Kylier agreed, making a face. "You have to wonder if she even notices or cares that she's killing him by inches. Somebody's gotta make her see some sense."

Gulcasa frowned. "You can't be serious. Are you intending to interfere?"

Kylier scowled at him. "Well, _somebody _has to!"

"Gulcasa…" Yggdra turned pleading eyes on him and clasped her hands at her chest. "Please, you must try to understand. Roswell's situation is delicate—he truly can't take much more of this from Rosary, and I fear that he's far too kind to ever bring to her attention what she does to him. If this is so, then we must do what we can to make her realize it…"

Fidgeting helplessly under the naïve hope of Yggdra's gaze, Gulcasa ran his hands through his hair and stared at the table, which was much safer. "I know where you're coming from, and I understand why you feel compelled to do this. Nessiah's told me more than enough about Roswell for me to get what's going on—and remember, I was in a place much like his at one point. Roswell and Rosary mean a great deal to you. I _know _that. They're like family to you, and you want them to be happy; that's perfectly understandable. Still…

"Still, their emotions are something the two of them must come to terms with on their own. If you try to run interference between them—even with the very best of intentions—you could easily make things worse. I can't make you stay out of it—I can only advise you on it. Do what you feel you must, but just… remember what I'm telling you now. I apologize, but I won't be able to help you here. I need to see to Nessiah, anyway." Clearing his throat awkwardly, Gulcasa gathered up his plates and stood.

Yggdra nodded and sighed. "I… I know. I just… we still must try."

--

Still, once Yggdra had tracked Rosary down in preparation of saying her piece, she began to wonder if Gulcasa hadn't been right, after all. Even for a girl who'd faced down bloody, ugly death in the form of the battlefield time and time again, there was little more intimidating than Rosary at her most melodramatically unreasonable.

"What do you want?" the witch demanded, with that clipped little snap to her voice that told Yggdra she wasn't going to get very far no matter what she said.

Yggdra knew that look in Rosary's eyes, and she knew it well. They were smoldering with defiance, bright with a dare to the world and all it held to try to budge her even an inch. When Rosary of Esmeralda dug her heels in for the long haul, very little could.

Sighing, already tasting the bitter dregs of hopelessness, Yggdra gave her comrade a pitiful, beseeching stare. "Please, Rosary. All I want is for you to hear me out."

Rosary shrugged jerkily, then waved her hand as she sauntered saucily back into her rooms, flopping artfully onto the plush and frilly comforter of her bed. "So talk."

"I'm sorry. I know you're upset, and I'll try to make this brief," Yggdra said desperately, closing the door behind her. "It's about this morning."

"No," was Rosary's flat retort.

"Please. You know that Roswell didn't intend to hurt you. He had no more choice in his Artifact's appearance than I did."

A spasm crossed Rosary's face, and she turned away with a prim little huff. "So? That doesn't change his attitude about it."

Yggdra didn't recall Roswell having any kind of 'attitude' about his Artifact other than irritation and resignation, but she let the remark slide. "It wasn't his intention, Rosary. He didn't follow after you to rub it in your face, or lord it over you. In fact, he asked Nessiah if it was possible that the same could happen for you."

Rosary snorted again. "Yeah, that'll be the day."

"Please, Rosary—you're hurting him. You don't see it, but I do—it _scares _me," Yggdra emphasized, striding closer to the witch. "It scares me so much to see him so hurt, so hopeless. I know what that kind of pain can do to a man. We've all seen it, time and time again. Rosary. I'm not asking you to give up your pride, or even to apologize… not really. I just want you to let Roswell know that you don't hate him."

Rebellion lit in those hot pink eyes. "That's never going to happen, because I _do _hate him."

Frustration roiled and seethed in a tight hot ball just under Yggdra's diaphragm, and she pressed her hand there, to the base of her ribs, as if to contain it. Between it and the strict laces of her corset, she could barely breathe. "You may profess that over and over, as much as you choose, Lady Rosary," she said sharply, "but I know you better than that. He annoys you, as you're determined to be annoyed at him. You struggle for power back and forth. When he does something to set you off, you hurt him, and he turns away from you to show you coldness because he's too proud to let you see how he bleeds. But you care for him. Lie to yourself as you will, but you care for him."

"What the he—what do you think you're talking about?" Rosary snapped, temper flushing her cheeks. "What do you know of our affairs?"

"I know you care because I've watched you, and I've watched him," Yggdra shot back, gripping her fistful of dress. "I've seen the way you cover worry with anger when he endangers himself. And I will never forget what happened at Heaven's Gate. I will never forget my own horror, my grief at watching Roswell fall. I will never forget the way you screamed for him, the way you held him in your arms, or the tears you shed for him. You care for him more than you'll ever allow yourself to admit, and I should think that after knowing him for nineteen years, you would know better than to take him for granted!"

Rosary just sat there openmouthed, her face flushed furiously. Yggdra watched her struggle for words, and because her own eyes stung and her lips wanted to tremble, she turned on her heel and left the room, waiting until the door was closed before she sagged against the wall and buried her face in her hands.

Biting back frustrated tears, Yggdra squared her shoulders and hardened her resolve. Maybe words wouldn't work, but she _would _find something that did, no matter what it took.

Rosary had never seen the crosshatching of deep delicate wounds that marched across Roswell's pale skin. But Yggdra had, and having seen them she couldn't bear to sit back and do nothing.

--

Elsewhere in the castle, Roswell had decided to seek company over solitude.

Nessiah didn't know why just yet, but he knew Roswell intimately enough that he could see the little hallmarks of desperation here and there and suspected that had he stayed in his own rooms, Roswell's eye would have been drawn much too inexorably towards sharp objects. It was safer, he knew, to be with someone who understood, if only a little.

"So you're really alright?" Roswell was asking, concern in his voice, in his smile. "You look better, but it's not easy to set aside worry."

_No, indeed, _Nessiah thought. It never ceased to astound him how Roswell was capable of completely ignoring his own immediate trauma to hover anxiously over someone else. How did humans manage to fit their minds around it all? "I'm fine. Really, it's nothing that having had a good cry and some pampering can't fix."

"If you're sure. You gave us a good scare, Nessiah, falling apart the way you did." Roswell shook his head, slipped his hand into the messenger bag slung at an angle from his shoulder to his hip. "I've your copied card for you."

Nessiah held out his hand for it with steady fingers. They wanted to tremble, and that he was able to keep so still that even his chains didn't chime pleased him. "Thank you."

The two of them paused at the doors to the castle gallery, and Nessiah stared long and fondly at the image of himself in his hands. It hurt to look back at that innocent child, at those happy memories. It had been so long ago, so very long ago, and yet no matter how many years passed, he was sure it would still be like yesterday.

This would help, though. That he could have this, even for a short while, would go a few steps towards healing those ancient and festering wounds.

"You're not going to go to pieces on me again, are you?" Roswell asked lightly but gently.

"No." Nessiah sighed. "There's a part of me—a very large part of me—that still feels as though this is a dream. You know those dreams—I'm sure you've had them too, everyone does. The kinds of dreams where all the dearest desires of your heart fall straight into your lap, and you wake up wanting. I want this to be true far too desperately. I suppose I'm still a little afraid that I'll awaken soon."

"This is very real," Roswell said softly, and reached out to cup Nessiah's face in his black-gloved hands. "And no matter how brief it may seem to you, from now on you're going to be able to take your freedom back when you need it."

Ruefully, Nessiah smiled. They walked into the gallery together, passing in silence down the rows of paintings to the set of centuries-old instruments held in stands within a circle of plush chairs.

Delicately, Roswell selected a tenor _viola da gamba _and its bow, then sat against the arm of a sofa, resting the instrument on his knees. "I don't expect this has been particularly easy on Gulcasa, either?" he asked as he tuned it, softly plucking the strings with the side of his thumb.

"No. He didn't quite know what he was supposed to do with me," Nessiah confessed with a smile. _"I _didn't know what was supposed to be done with me. It's been a long time since I've been that overwhelmed by anything. He stayed with me all night, fretting the whole way, almost flustering himself into a panic. In that sense, he's as sweet as you are."

"Poor man," Roswell said, a slow smile of his own stealing across his lips. "He's used to being strong, and taking the weight of everyone else's cares onto his shoulders. He must've barely managed to not get irritated by the fact that you wouldn't let him take yours."

"Too much weight can break a person," Nessiah remarked. "You know that, and I know that. Gulcasa found it out firsthand, and I shudder to think what might have become of him if Yggdra hadn't been there. I owe that girl a great deal when it comes to him."

Roswell nodded, then turned the viol around. He removed his gloves and picked up the bow, pinching the line of horsehair between his forefinger and thumb, and drew it across the instrument's seven strings, the fingers of his left hand dancing over the frets.

Nessiah watched him play and let the music fill his heart, sitting back along the arm of another chair. Roswell was an artist, and he subconsciously played up his own beauty whenever he had an instrument in his arms, swaying gently to the music and swinging the viol's neck dramatically to broaden the sound. It was a delight to watch him at it.

"This is a great deal better than mine," Roswell stated as he let the bow rest. "I've played it at least once every week since I came back to Paltina, and I've never been able to help being jealous. Or wishing I could take this home with me."

"It's a fine instrument, and you've been maintaining it well," Nessiah told him. "And with your skill, you probably deserve it better than the historians who keep it locked up here. Viols grow richer with age, and they must be played. It's what they were made for."

Roswell nodded, then held out the viol in open offer. "Do you want to try? I remember Kylier telling me once that you play."

"Oh—no, it's alright. Maybe another time. I'm long out of practice; with the Chains of Conviction, I'd damage the poor pretty thing, like as not." But it surprised him how fiercely his arms could ache to hold an instrument again, and the sweet pain of remembering the joy it had brought him to work music with his hands. Music was, after all, another kind of magic, and here with Roswell, the magic was a riot through his blood.

Roswell nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. Still—sometime when you can bear to use what time you have a day in some way other than flight, come down with me and we'll get you back in shape."

Nessiah brightened—he hadn't considered it before. "I'd like that, and thank you."

"For now, why don't you just sing with me? Name me a ditty or a ballad you like."

Nessiah considered, and spread his hands. "You decide. I know enough of them that you'd be hard-put to come up with one that I can't sing."

Roswell smiled, and slid into a melody that Nessiah instantly recognized. He waited for the instrumental introduction of the song to conclude, and added the words.

_"If I can only have one desire in all the world—then let me sleep at your side, it matters little where or when…"_

Nessiah had always taken pride in his voice. He wasn't sure if it was due to his stature or for some other reason, but as he'd matured, his voice had barely deepened from treble to tenor, and he could still slide into his boyhood's perfect soprano if he so chose. The other angelic mages he'd worked with had always gone to him for assistance with their sung spells, as his pitch was always perfect and he was capable of weaving baroque intricacies into song that others believed impossible. Angels praised the gods with song, and Nessiah had never met an angel whose voice wasn't at least passable. His singing was exceptional, and he knew it, so he took confidence in it.

When the song was done, the faint sound of applause made both Nessiah and Roswell turn, surprised. Yggdra was heading down the aisle of paintings towards them, a smile on her face.

"That was lovely," she murmured as she joined them. "I'll always envy people like you a little for what you can do with music."

"I'm sure you could learn, too—once you have the time to study it, that is," Nessiah assured her with a slight smile. "Do you need something?"

"I'm so sorry to intrude, and sorrier to impose, but I need to borrow Roswell for a moment. I hope it won't take very long, but I don't know if it will."

"Really?" Roswell carefully replaced the viol and its bow, standing. "What's the trouble?"

Yggdra shook her head. "I'll explain it in a moment; I'm sorry, but it's a little… complicated. Nessiah… I hate to just leave you like this, but…"

Nessiah smiled and took out his copy of his pactio card. "It's alright. Roswell, Yggdra, go ahead and take care of whatever it is you need to do. As for me… I think I'm going to go fly."

--

As Yggdra came puffing around the corner of the hedge maze, Kylier and the others straightened up.

"You got Roswell?" Kylier asked in a low voice.

"Yes," Yggdra panted breathlessly. "He's in the middle of the courtyard now."

"Do we know where Rosary is?"

"I checked Elena's report, and she's up in one of the towers. There should be just enough time to make this work—thank you, Elena."

The former Imperial assassin flushed and bowed. "No need to thank me, Your Majesty. I—want to do my part to help, too."

"So now, all we gotta do is go tell the old granny," Pamela whisper-cheered with a grin and a thumbs-up.

"Everyone knows what they're doing, right? Oh, I wish I could help out—she'd suspect us for sure if I came with you."

"Don't worry about it so much," Kylier scolded. "We've been going over it since lunch. We know our lines. Now, help me get into this thing, will you?"

--

Rosary was leaving her tower as the sun began to dip in the sky with half a mind to get some dinner early when she ran full into Elena and nearly landed on her behind because of it—the younger girl had been careening down the hall at full speed.

"Well, what's got you in such a fuss?" she demanded sourly, clutching the wall. As Elena straightened up, though, she frowned, some of her irritation evaporating. The assassin was short of breath and pale, her face coated in a fine sheen of sweat, her violet eyes huge.

"R-Rosary…!" With shaking hands, Elena latched onto Rosary's free arm. "Please—we need your help!"

"My help? What's going on?"

Elena put a hand to her chest and shook her head, and Pamela and Nietzsche came stampeding around the corner, going back and forth at each other at the top of their lungs.

"What do you think you were _doing? _Stupid! Why can't you even draw a circle right, huh?"

"Don't call Pamela stupid! Pamela's magic circle was perfect!"

"Nietzsche doesn't think so! If it _was, _then you'd be able to _control _your stupid golem!"

"Golem?" Rosary repeated, baffled.

"Y-yes," Elena managed. "Pamela was trying to learn to summon golems. O-only, when she tried conjuring one that would resist magic…"

_"Stupid _couldn't make it work right!" Nietzsche put in, elbowing Pamela.

"Don't call Pamela _stupid!" _the witch retorted, giving Nietzsche a shove for good measure.

"You _are _stupid," Rosary said dryly. "You can't just try out a golem-crafting spell and expect perfect results, and you have to ground yourself properly first. Creating golems is an art, and it requires study, little girl."

Pamela stuck out her tongue. "What do _you _know, you mean old granny!"

Gritting her teeth, Rosary managed to keep herself from flinging fire at the obnoxious woodland girl. "Whatever. Where is the damn thing? I expect you'll want me to clean up your mess for you, as usual."

"In the courtyard, by the hedge maze," Elena told her. "We couldn't just leave it alone to wreak havoc—Roswell's down there trying to hold it off…"

"Roswell?" Rosary repeated, feeling a sudden chill. "You left _Roswell _down there by himself?"

Not waiting for an answer from Elena, Pamela, or Nietzsche, Rosary tightened her hold on the haft of her casting broom and shoved past them, running down the hall to one that overlooked the courtyard.

And she saw. So far below, she saw the bulky blue shape of a golem advancing slowly, and Roswell backing away, throwing spells that had absolutely no effect.

Without even pausing to think, Rosary ran to the window at full speed and hurled herself from it in one vaulting leap, swinging her leg over her broom and catching herself with a burst of furious power as she fell.

She reached the courtyard within only a few heartbeats, and when she dismounted from her broom she didn't even slow down to do it. Riding on momentum, magic, and cold hard fury that coated a tiny seed of terror, she barreled into the golem with everything she had, putting a great deal of her power behind the sweeping strike of her broom. The golem crashed and rolled, and Rosary skidded to a halt, nearly slipping and falling in the slick earth her heels had plowed up.

White-faced with shock, Roswell staggered back another step and blinked at her, his eyes wide and glassy and his hands still raised as though to fend off attack. "R..Rosary…?"

Rosary firmly gripped his shoulders, not letting go of her broom. "Roswell, you _moron! _Are you okay? You're not hurt?"

"I—I—what are you—" Roswell shook his head and relaxed a little, still bewildered. "No, I—I'm fine. How did you—that _thing, _that golem—just came out of nowhere. Rosary…"

She sighed and released him, shaking her head. "Well, that's something, at least. Idiot. Don't you think you should've learned by now not to bite off more than you can chew?"

"I… I…" Roswell shook his head again as the blood rose prettily to his cheeks. "I… I need to thank you. Rosary. Spells—didn't seem to be working on that thing; you helped me a great deal. I don't know what I would've done."

Rosary shrugged one shoulder. "…Eh. Stop turning your nose up at staves. Idiot. You can't fight with your fists, and if magic doesn't work on an enemy, you're in trouble when it corners you."

The two of them stood in awkward silence, then there was another thump from the direction of the golem, and the sharp sound of a zipper pulling.

"Ugh… ow, ow, _ow… _son of a…" Confounded, Roswell and Rosary turned to see Kylier clambering out of the back of the golem, rubbing her head. "That _hurt—"_

She turned, saw them staring, and flinched. "Oh, uh—"

"You—what—?!" Rosary whirled from Kylier to Roswell to Kylier again, confusion turning swiftly to abject fury.

"Uh—Rosary…" Kylier began, but Rosary wasn't listening—she whirled and grabbed the collar of Roswell's robes, yanking him towards her.

"What the _hell _is this? Just what do you think you're trying to pull?"

"Rosary, _wait!" _This was Yggdra's voice; Rosary glanced to the side to see the young Queen sprinting towards them from the mouth of the maze. "Hear me out, please! We only did this so that you would…!"

"You _bastard!" _Rosary shook Roswell vigorously, infuriated by the helpless confusion and the rising panic in his eyes. "How _dare _you screw with me like this!"

_"Wait! _Roswell didn't have anything to do with—"

Rosary didn't care. With another furious yell of _"Bastard!",_ she released Roswell only to swing her fist at him in a backhanded strike, catching him full in the cheekbone with her knuckles. The crack rang through the silent courtyard, covering Roswell's half-stifled cry of pain.

Breathing hard, Rosary glared at him as he slowly, hesitantly lifted a hand to his cheek. No one spoke, no one moved, and the others barely dared to breathe.

"I'm through with you," Rosary declared quietly, venomously. And turned on her heel and walked away in frosty silence.

Slowly, Roswell straightened up. He felt at the spreading bruise along the side of his face with shaking fingers, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Roswell…" Yggdra ventured timidly. "I'm so sorry… we were only trying to…"

He closed his eyes and shook his head silently, then turned to walk in the opposite direction as Rosary, brushing past Elena, Pamela, and Nietzsche as they arrived.

Yggdra stood near to tears in the silent courtyard with Kylier still half-in, half-out of the golem suit as the others stared numbly. There were no easy answers as to what they were supposed to do now.

--

Nessiah was just adding the very last touch to a complicated glyph in the Revelation when there was a quiet knock at his door.

"Who is it?" he called absently.

"It's me," came Roswell's muffled voice from the other side.

"Come in."

Placing the now-capped bottle of ink and his pen on the floor, Nessiah gave the door only a cursory glance as it opened, concentrating on transferring the Revelation to his desk without smudging the precious glyph. But when Roswell pushed it mostly closed behind him and straightened up, Nessiah nearly dropped the spellbook altogether.

"Oh, gods, _gods."_ Starting to shake, Nessiah set the book down carefully and dashed to his friend. "Roswell, your _face! _Who did this?"

Roswell didn't reply as Nessiah coaxed him a few steps further in, then rose on his toes to inspect the long, purpling mark all down his cheek.

"And you've been crying…" Nessiah shook his head, then raised his arm to rest one cold manacle along the mark. It was all he could think to do. "This is Rosary's work, isn't it?"

Roswell still didn't speak. A fresh tear ran down his face, trailing across Nessiah's chains.

There were a thousand biting demands and furious condemnations that Nessiah wanted to hurl. It took work to restrain them, but for Roswell's sake, he did. Attacking Rosary would do neither of them any good at the moment, and even if Nessiah _did _let loose on her the way he wanted to, Roswell would only become angry and defend her.

Such was the way of love.

"We need to get something cold for this. You're going to hurt from it for a long time if you don't, or if you don't see a healer. That's probably a better idea. Shall we go see Flone?"

"No." Roswell closed his eyes, leaned down to rest his forehead against Nessiah's. "No, I just—" He sighed. "I just need you right now. I just want to be with you."

Nessiah hesitated. "You're… sure you wouldn't rather…"

"I need you," Roswell repeated.

Nessiah let out a resigned little sigh and nodded. "Alright."

Resting his hand at the nape of the necromancer's neck, Nessiah drew him down for a kiss.

They stood pressed body to body in a gentle sway as Roswell reached out to push the door closed and lock it, an easy familiar rhythm born of the need to comfort and the need to be comforted. As Roswell rested his hands inside Nessiah's robes, settling them on the fallen angel's slim hips, Nessiah brushed his lips over Roswell's bruised cheek, then kissed him deeply. Roswell yielded up his mouth freely on a soft moan, content to let Nessiah set the pace.

As their sway became a slow waltzing step, Nessiah slid his hands under Roswell's mantle and gently lifted it from his shoulders, draping it over the back of his chair. Running his fingertips through Roswell's silky hair, he removed the young lord's beret and tossed it carelessly in the same general direction; Roswell allowed his own hands to roam up to Nessiah's chest, unfastening the top clasp of his overrobe.

Forcing his fingers not to rush, Nessiah carefully undid the fastenings to Roswell's robes, his own pulse jumping pleasantly at the quickening of Roswell's heart beneath his hands. Roswell shrugged them off, and slipped out of his fine leather shoes as the folds of blue silk slid liquidly to the floor.

They kissed again—insistent and needful—as Nessiah slid Roswell's breeches down his hips. And they stood pressed together again, Roswell naked and Nessiah still fully clothed, until Roswell gently set his hands to Nessiah's faceplate.

There was a little twist deep in Nessiah's belly, and he fidgeted a little as Roswell's fingers worked delicately, unsnapping the plates. They had to do this so that he could undress, but it always made him feel shy and unsure. No matter how many times it happened, Nessiah always half-expected the ugliness of his scars to drive Roswell away.

The backs of his thighs hit the mattress, and his chains slithered down his sides to pool on the spread with a jangle. Roswell slipped Nessiah's heavy overrobe off easily, and as he gathered the thin material of the fallen angel's underrobe at his waist, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to the ruin of Nessiah's eyes.

Nessiah's heart filled, and he trembled as Roswell stripped him, his breath starting to hitch.

There was the momentary awkwardness of refastening Nessiah's faceplate, and then more sweet kisses and gentle touches that had Nessiah's body aching with want. And then Roswell sat back against the mattress, his pale skin aglow in the lamplight as he pulled Nessiah down with him.

"Lay your hands on me," he murmured.

--

Making love.

It wasn't until Roswell that Nessiah had learned there was a distinction. He'd known sex, the coldness and selfishness of it—the need for pleasure and release, even if it came at the cost of someone else's pain. He'd known—altogether _too _much about that end of it.

But it wasn't until Roswell that Nessiah had known it could be like this, so tender, so warm. He'd never _wanted _at all over the course of his long life, not until he'd met Gulcasa at any rate. So he'd never known that there was a difference between wanting _it _so badly, and wanting _him._ Between wanting your own pleasure, and wanting to bring pleasure to someone else.

It wasn't until Roswell that Nessiah had discovered what _making love _really meant.

Surrender came so easily for Roswell, and it shook Nessiah right down to his heart. Even when he was clumsy, even when he made mistakes, it never seemed to make Roswell any less willing to trust his body to his lover. He'd never been hurt, not the way Nessiah had—that was part of it. But more, that was just a part of who Roswell was.

Nessiah had read of it in books, of course. He'd heard people speak of it—reverently, mischievously, longingly. But he'd never realized that even any of what they said could be true. That first night—when Nessiah had been prepared to do anything, as long as it would stop the sickly-sweet sound of Roswell's mind starting to shatter—had been an awakening, and the nights after a series of discoveries.

He'd had fears. Roswell had soothed them. There were still boundaries to his body and soul that he struggled to cross. Roswell accepted them.

And so in times like this—when Roswell needed Nessiah, or the other way around—Nessiah realized that maybe he was discovering a different kind of affection from what he felt for Gulcasa. Roswell was first and foremost a friend, and because of that Nessiah did his best to fulfill Roswell's needs, whatever they happened to be.

It was always sweet, and always beautiful. Only in the last few moments did Nessiah feel that pleasure akin to pain that demanded brutality, and because he knew what brutality was, he was able to keep himself in check.

And when it was over and he and Roswell settled into each other's arms, Nessiah knew that if he ever lost his lover, part of his heart would die, too.

--

"I'm sorry," Roswell managed in a low and dizzy murmur.

Nessiah stirred from the pleasurable haze of afterglow with a soft moan. "Why?"

"I'm using you again." Roswell's voice was bleak with regret. "I'm sorry."

"I don't feel used," Nessiah pointed out. "When you come to me, I give freely. The same way you do when I'm the one who needs. There's nothing wrong with it, Roswell." And even if Roswell _was _using him, that was fine. Roswell wouldn't be finding absolution in Rosary's bed any sooner than Nessiah would find it in Gulcasa's. They had to do something to satisfy themselves, and each other.

And Nessiah wouldn't so quickly forget that he had once used Roswell without a single qualm. It would only be just that he would be used in turn.

Because Nessiah didn't like that thought, he pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Roswell's forehead. "Have you been thinking about this the whole time? Roswell…"

But Roswell was shaking his head and smiling wanly, wearily. "You know I can't think at all when you're inside me."

"Good." Even as his heart fluttered, Nessiah reached behind him to tug at the wreckage of the bed linens, pulling them around his and Roswell's entwined bodies. "Then you don't have to think like this now, either. Just rest."

Roswell closed his eyes and sighed. "Alright. Alright." He snuggled, brushed his lips lightly over Nessiah's heart. "In the morning, then. _A ghrá."_

And just like that, he was asleep, leaving Nessiah speechless and quivering.

_My love. _Roswell had said the words so simply, so readily. And they'd shot right to the most wounded part of Nessiah's heart.

**(tsuzuku)**


	10. this is love

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Nessiah woke feeling warm and limber and refreshed, with Roswell's arms close around his chest and waist. His lover still slept deeply, curled up on his side in the nest they'd made of the sheets, his hair still rumpled and damp to the touch. There was something unbearably cute about that fact, and Nessiah was at a loss to what precisely it was until he realized that Gulcasa had been known to go around with his hair exactly as stupid as Roswell's was now—the young emperor had a tendency to forget to braid his hair before he went to bed, and long hair often made quite the mess of itself overnight.

That little shock made Nessiah feel a little strange, almost guilty, and he shifted where he lay only to have Roswell reel him back in, holding him closer than before.

Smiling regretfully, Nessiah leaned in to kiss Roswell's forehead and then set about slowly and gently extricating himself from his lover's embrace. It wasn't that he was particularly opposed to lying still and going right back to sleep; in fact, a large part of him ached to cuddle with Roswell and lose himself for a few more hours in the necromancer's arms. Still, Nessiah recognized that part of himself as the part that had felt lost and wounded at Roswell's thoughtless, sleepy endearments of the night before, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to trust those feelings.

So Nessiah picked himself free of Roswell and the rumpled bedclothes, blessing Yggdra for putting carpeting and rugs in his room as he shivered and fervently cursed cold spring mornings.

After checking the glyph he'd carefully inked in to see that it had dried perfectly, Nessiah set about gathering up Roswell's discarded clothes and smoothing them out as best he could. As he only had the one chair and he intended to sit in it, he experienced a flustered moment of indecision before deciding to fold and pile Roswell's things on the corner of his desk.

He was hungry. _Desperately _hungry, he realized as his insides clamored in protest. And, he noticed as he glanced down at himself, he badly needed a bath. Roswell likely would, too. But he didn't want to leave, didn't want Roswell to wake alone. Nessiah knew what it was to find yourself in an empty bed when someone had been there beside you when you slept; the loneliness was crushing.

And besides, Roswell could only use their lovemaking to run away from his despair over Rosary for so long. There wasn't anything very sharp or particularly dangerous in Nessiah's room, but Roswell had a history of being inventive.

It was better to stay, and keep watch.

As he made that grim assessment, there was a soft knock at the door.

_Now what? _Nessiah wondered tiredly, and picked up his underrobe to hold in front of him as he crossed the room to the door. "Who is it?" he asked quietly.

"Ness, it's me," Kylier's voice hissed from the other side.

Sighing, Nessiah opened the door a crack. "Do you want something?"

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Why?" Kylier looked baffled by his refusal; Nessiah expected she might well, since when it came to her he had few boundaries of personal space.

"Ordinarily I wouldn't care, but Roswell is in here. He's still asleep, and more importantly, he's naked. I doubt he'd care for you staring."

Kylier heaved a sigh of relief. "So, you picked up damage control? Thank God. He tell you what happened?"

"No, but I'll find out soon enough, even if he doesn't want to tell me. The castle's a sieve for gossip, you know that."

Kylier glanced around. "Okay, then. Yggdra's been really worried about him; at least I can tell her he's okay and under supervision." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "He hasn't… well… you know?"

Nessiah shook his head. "To my knowledge, he hasn't cut himself. And I've seen all of him there is to see over the course of the night, so you can put your mind at ease there." Although there were plenty of other places where Roswell was carrying fresh wounds. While he was that physically intimate with Roswell, Nessiah couldn't close himself off as tightly as he usually did, and he'd seen the grief and the pain and the self-hatred in Roswell's heart as clearly as if they were badges the necromancer pinned to his sleeve.

"That's something, at least." Kylier leaned her forehead against the doorframe. "I've gotta be honest with you, Ness. Rosary messed him up really bad, but maybe she wouldn't have gotten the chance if Yggdra and the others and me hadn't stuck our noses in. It's almost as much our fault as it is hers."

"You know Roswell doesn't lay blame with people who mean well," Nessiah told her, though privately he had to wonder. "I'm looking after him; stop kicking yourself. Make sure Yggdra hears that, too."

"Okay, okay." Kylier grinned good-naturedly. "Guess I'd better shoo, since if you're naked and he's naked you're probably gonna want to put all that skin to use, huh?"

"Ha ha. He's sleeping, and I'm not going to wake him up."

"Your loss." Kylier rummaged with something further past the door than Nessiah could see, then held out a fruit bun. "I brought you breakfast."

Nessiah opened the door a little wider to take it. "Kylier?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you know I mean it in the sincerest way when I tell you I love you."

--

It took at least another hour for Roswell to stir sleepily and murmur, raking his arm across the impression in the sheets where Nessiah had been, then frowning and blinking when he found nothing there.

"Over here," Nessiah said gently, brushing his fingertips across Roswell's cheek as he turned towards the sound of his lover's voice.

Roswell stretched beneath the sheets, then resettled with a moan. "Nessiah. Good morning."

"And to you. It's barely morning still, though. If you'd woken much later I'd be telling you 'good afternoon' instead." Smiling, Nessiah sat against the side of the mattress, then leaned down to lay his lips softly against Roswell's. Roswell shifted below him, and his hands made their way to Nessiah's hair, lightly holding him there for a few moments longer.

When Nessiah sat back up, he saw that Roswell had closed his eyes again and was lying placidly still with a faint smile crossing lips still flushed and slightly swollen. Everything about his countenance was an invitation, but Nessiah clamped down on his resolve and decided to resist.

As fun, relaxing, and downright satisfying as it would be, he couldn't just lounge around in bed with Roswell all day. Kylier would be hard-put to keep the questions and suspicions from flying, and it was just inviting far too much trouble.

"Feeling better now?" he asked instead.

Roswell had the decency to look a little put out, but he didn't sulk as he opened those hazy blue eyes and smiled up at his lover. "Yes. And thank you, Nessiah."

"No need. You would and have done the same for me, time and time again. It's of course a terrible hardship to spend the night making love with and sleeping at the side of someone dear to me, but we do what we can."

This had Roswell laughing, covering his face and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "So you say. But, really… all I can do is thank you."

Nessiah sat still and watched Roswell breathe for a few moments. "Do you feel up to talking about it yet, or do you need more time?"

Roswell's smile went bittersweet, but he shook his head. "It's alright. I'm ready."

As the necromancer explained what had happened the previous day, Nessiah listened carefully and patiently. He didn't comment on anything he heard, even when he wanted to openly curse Rosary and her insensitivity, and only made sympathetic murmurs to encourage Roswell to keep speaking.

"It hurts me more than I can say," Roswell finished. "I don't know how well I can deal with the pain… and I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here to run to."

Nessiah was pretty sure he knew what Roswell would've done, but neither of them had to say it aloud.

"What will you be doing today?" he asked instead.

"I've lessons with Flone today," Roswell said. "After that… I'm not sure. There are books I'm sure I can go read, or I can work with—my Artifact a bit more."

"I'll come with you to those lessons, then, and we'll find something for you to do afterwards that'll keep you away from people. You're tender yet, Roswell, and you need time to yourself to find your peace and stability again."

Roswell lay still and stared soulfully up at Nessiah for a moment, then reached out to rest a hand along the fallen angel's shoulder. "Really… all I can do is thank you, Nessiah. You've so many other things you need to take care of, and still you devote your time to me…"

"Think of it as a basis of importance," Nessiah replied easily, then tilted his head to the side as Roswell's fingertips danced over his cheek. "…Roswell, you know I wouldn't mind it if you called me Ness or Nessa. I've told you as much before. Why don't you?"

"You have such a lovely name, Nessiah," Roswell said with a smile. "Why would I want to shorten it? It's my opinion that something so beautiful should remain as it is."

Nessiah's cheeks flared brilliant red, and he turned away. "Really. Please don't tease me, Roswell. That's a cruel thing to do, at a time like this…"

"I'm not making fun," Roswell told him, and Nessiah heard the light creak of bedsprings as the necromancer sat up. "I mean that seriously. Nessiah." Gentle hands turned his face back for Roswell to press a light kiss to his cheek.

Nessiah allowed himself to sit back against Roswell's warmth for a moment, then straightened up, giving his lover a slight smile. "Come on—let's get you cleaned up and dressed, and we'll head down. It wouldn't do to have you late for your lessons, not when what you're learning is so important."

--

Before the war—before his parents' untimely deaths—Roswell had studied many different kinds of magic, from battle spells to functional, day-to-day skills. But above all else, he'd been an herbalist—a mage who studied and enhanced the properties of plants for the purposes of healing. And he'd been happy doing that—a happiness that shone through the layers of cloistered depression that hung heavy on him now, whenever anyone found him in his gardens. It was only when you had him there with his hands in the dirt, or bent over an account of some fascinating new spell, when that bright smile came easily and that husky, nearly careless laugh joined it.

He'd set it aside when he'd turned to necromancy; out of desperation, he'd chosen to focus on the dark arts and to put his powers only into them. Maybe that, and not just Rosary, was the reason he'd become so lost, so bitterly unhappy. But with the war over and his attempts to resurrect his parents abandoned, Roswell was finally beginning to ease back into healing again, and Nessiah could easily tell that it fulfilled a part of him that had been left crying and desolate for years.

As long as Rosary and her cruelty weren't at the foremost of his mind, Roswell's healing arts could potentially be the saving of him. For his friend's sake, Nessiah hoped that it was so.

Especially because Roswell had finally found a teacher capable of cultivating all that untapped power in him.

Roswell and Nessiah made their way from the castle to the town that surrounded it, crossing the crowded streets filled with the happy people of Paltina. It was a beautiful city, built of white brick over lush fields and the pure water that served as the castle moat. Great windmills turned slowly in the breeze at the corners of each district, and something about the burnished gold color of the turbines and their lazy wheeling made the day seem bright and crisp to Nessiah, filled with hope and peace. Asgard was beautiful and grand, but beneath its marble and brick and regimented grass and clover, the entrails of the great island were run on cold machinery. The organic feel of Paltina, this city run on wind and wheat and water, was comforting and even freeing in comparison.

Perhaps because of that, and in order to keep the common folk from being intimidated by the ancient grandeur of the castle, Flone had chosen to set up her clinic within the city bounds. She and her husband, Russell the Astral Fencer, were well enough off from their purses of service that she was able to set a fee so low for her attentions that it seemed almost an afterthought.

And that, combined with her reputation and power, meant that whenever she was in town, all the other doctors and healers sighed and kissed their clientele goodbye. Flone was easily the most powerful cleric living, and one of the strongest healers Fantasinia had ever known.

As he and Roswell made their way to Flone's clinic, several citizens smiled and hailed them on their way. Roswell always gave them smiles in return, but Nessiah was too surprised at first to find himself included in their cheerful greetings to do more than nod.

"They may not know much of your story, but they know you're responsible for their Queen's safety," Roswell explained with a light laugh as Nessiah wondered at it aloud. "As it is with the Imperial Army, that's more than enough for them."

Though he was still bewildered, Nessiah was able to give more of a positive response after this. Glancing back at the castle, he realized for the first time that where only the royal White Phoenix had flown upon the pennants for as long as he could remember, the Black and White Roses now rode there, along with the national flag of Embellia, the Bronquian Black Dragon, and his own coat of arms—crossed black and white wings over the face of a timepiece. Yggdra did it to let her people know that her guests were of her own dear fold, and to be treated as such. The people of Paltina happily complied.

When they headed inside Flone's clinic, Nessiah was smiling.

"Ah—so you're here! You're a bit early, but that's nothing to complain about, is it?"

"The longer I can spend here, the better," Roswell said warmly. "There's little more I love than to learn."

Flone spotted Nessiah then, and dropped him a light curtsy. "I haven't acquired another student, have I?"

Bowing to her in turn, Nessiah shook his head. "I've always been hopeless at healing magic, though there was certainly a time when I tried to learn anyway. Knowing better now as I do, I'm only here to watch."

Flone dimpled prettily and covered a laugh. "Well, any friend of Roswell's is of course welcome here. Have a seat wherever you'll be comfortable, General Nessiah."

Whether she knew about the incident yesterday or not, she didn't ask—and didn't even comment on the faintly purple mark across Roswell's cheek, Nessiah noted. And she continued to address him with his rank in the Imperial Army, as she did with everyone she knew from Bronquia. Charmed, Nessiah readily chose one of the plush chairs and sank into it.

Flone was about two years older than Roswell, and had the softly radiant beauty of the dawn. She dressed in a white, blue-skirted gown with puffy sleeves that she'd rolled back, its neckline stitched with violet ribbon, and used an impeccably groomed braid as a makeshift headband, letting the rest of her shiny fawn-brown hair fall in gentle waves past her waist. Her doe's eyes were wide, deep, and bright lilac in shade. Like any good healer, she exuded calm and peace in waves, a tangible aura.

She'd served as Roswell's tutor in the healing arts since almost the end of the war, and had helped refresh his skills with plants and herbs before determining that he had within him a greatness that had the potential to measure near her own. Gently, she was nurturing that potential, bringing Roswell into his rightful power.

Nessiah didn't know Flone very well personally, but he had a great respect for her. Before, when he'd been torn between his attachment to Gulcasa and his need to see his plans through, Nessiah had felt foolish for it, but hadn't been able to help it. Flone was a true healer, and like any in her position, she always did her best by the injured. She'd cared for the Imperial Army and served almost as a member of their medical division when she'd been their captive, and had always done what she could for anyone she knew was in need.

And now that she had the time on her hands, here she was offering her powers to all the people of Fantasinia who might fall under that category.

Over his long years, Nessiah had been in a lot of healers' establishments. Despite his sheer magical power, his constitution had always been a bit frail, and the wounds of his sundering had never completely healed and never really would. Out of every place he'd found himself in, he readily admitted that Flone's simple clinic was probably one of the most relaxing.

Much like the Imperial medical division, Flone now worked out of a house she'd converted for her own uses. With the help of her husband and a few other strong backs, she'd taken out the wall between the living room and the kitchen, and used it as her examining room. The walls were lined with tables and painted a soft pinkish mauve, with potted plants in the corners and on the windowsills and a few dreamy watercolors hung about the walls. Plush chairs that demanded to be curled up in sat along the windowed wall, with a few books scattered along the tables between them. Flone's countertops were covered with lines and clusters of large jars of herbs and medicines, all cheerfully labeled, with deep basins of water and pots of soap beneath them. Her examination table had been a bench in its previous life, and had a long thin pillow-covering tied to it to make it comfortable.

The young cleric had taken an environment that often made patients nervous and made it instead so welcoming and homelike that you found yourself relaxed and comfortable there. Nessiah remembered having been treated in cold and sterile rooms, and worse, dark and rank ones brimming with infection, and he appreciated it.

"Today we actually have a patient coming who I'd like you to help treat," Flone told Roswell. "She's a young girl from this city who's been recovering from a serious illness. The worst of it is long over, and for now we're just helping to ease the inflammation in her lungs until she's fully well again."

"I understand," Roswell replied, then smiled a little. "…I admit I'm a little nervous. It hasn't been long since I've started to heal with energy alone, after all…"

"Don't worry," Flone said, resting her hands on his shoulders. "I'm going to be here supervising you every step of the way; it'll be a while yet until you treat patients without my guidance. I won't force you to work alone until I know you're comfortable with it."

"It's easily within your reach, Roswell," Nessiah put in, and smiled when they both turned to him. "Remember when I tested you two days ago—you were able to heal me without even thinking about it." Turning to Flone, he explained, "In order to see if his Artifact would help him reach his potential for healing, I opened a fairly deep wound in my arm; just by touching it, Roswell was not only able to close it but to repair it as though it had never been there at all."

Roswell made a face. "I still wish you hadn't. If I hadn't been able to heal it…"

Flone also seemed concerned. "He's right, you know," she pointed out. "You could've done yourself severe muscular damage."

Nessiah would have pointed out that even if he had, the injuries and whatever came of them would fade from existence the next time he died and was reincarnated, but he had the feeling that would only upset Roswell more. So instead, he shook his head and said, "I had no reason to doubt you, and you proved yourself more than capable by what you did. So save your if-ing and your worries. You'll do fine; I have confidence in you."

A pleased flush crossed Roswell's face, and Flone smiled. As they stood in comfortable silence, the door to the clinic opened, and a townswoman who seemed in her mid-thirties entered, a girl of about seven or eight trailing after her.

The girl didn't seem all too happy about being at a healer's, no matter how warm and welcoming the atmosphere. However, when she caught sight of Roswell, her big blue eyes went wide and a surprised smile spread across her little face. "Heyyyyy, it's Mister!"

Roswell's eyes widened, too. "Nana?"

The girl giggled and dropped her mother's hand to fling herself across the room at Roswell, hugging him around the waist.

"My…" Flone covered a giggle of her own. "I wasn't aware you two knew each other."

The girl's mother smiled warmly at the cleric. "My Nana first became ill during the reclamation of Paltina," she explained. "Because of that, our family couldn't evacuate with the others. My lord found us, and he defended our home from the Black Cavalry at great risk to himself."

Roswell knelt down to look Nana in the eye, smiling warmly at her. "So how have you been lately, Jôchan?"

"Lots better," the girl proclaimed, beaming a bright smile at him. Nessiah covered a smile of his own; it seemed that no one could really resist Roswell when he was being charming. "Mama and me pressed the flowers you gave us!"

"And we certainly enjoyed your candy," Roswell replied, ruffling his little admirer's hair. "Now, come on up and let's have a look at you." So saying, he scooped her up with an expertise that told Nessiah that this wasn't the first time he'd dealt with small children, and set her down on the table.

"Forgive me, but…" Nana's mother shook her head. "We had no idea you would be here, Lord Branthèse…"

"Just Roswell, please," the necromancer said graciously. "I'm here to learn, and to help. Titles and status don't matter in these walls."

Flone nodded. "I've taken Roswell as an apprentice of sorts… he has great potential to become a healer, and in this time of peace, it seems only fitting that he learn. If you don't mind, I'd like for him to help me in Nana's examination today."

Nana turned a pleading glance on her mother, who laughed.

"Well, I don't see why not. I can hardly turn down someone who's helped us so much already, anyway!"

And so, Roswell's daily lesson began. Flone gently undid the back of Nana's dress, and demonstrated to Roswell how to measure the rhythm of the little girl's breathing, talking him through it as he tried the procedure himself. He kept his touch gentle, and flirted with her sweetly all the while, wearing that same charming, affectionate smile that always made Nessiah's heart stutter.

Flone explained to him how to judge the rate at which Nana was recovering from her illness, then directed him to begin a light touch of healing. Roswell sobered a little and closed his eyes as he rested his hands to her back, his palms glowing with soft sweet light.

"He's a natural," Nessiah murmured as he watched his lover at work, feeling his heart swell with pride. He knew with absolute certainty that this was the work Roswell had been born for.

"He is indeed," Nana's mother commented softly. Nessiah almost started where he sat; he hadn't meant to speak aloud. "Beyond being my baby girl's first crush, he's a good hand for this type of work, isn't he? Gentle, and a pretty face. Whoever it is that wins his heart should count themselves lucky indeed."

Nessiah nodded thoughtfully, picturing Rosary's scorn and bitterness towards Roswell despite his openhearted love for her, then the way that Roswell was always so patient, so tender with him in bed. "…That's very true," he replied at length.

Nana's examination went completely without incident, and once it was finished, the girl was allowed to choose herself a brightly colored sweet from one of Flone's jars. The happy child and her mother bid Flone and Roswell goodbye, then left the clinic.

"She's such a good girl," Roswell remarked with a smile, slightly flushed with his success.

"She is that," Flone agreed. "And you bled for her. She and hers won't soon forget it. _I _won't soon forget how severe those lance wounds were, when I had the chance to treat them after Karona. Roswell, you seem to make a habit of staking your life until you're within inches of it."

Roswell's blush darkened several shades. "I couldn't have just left her for Leon's men… we all know what he and his were like…"

Flone shook her head. "You're a decent soul. In these days, a thing like that is precious; treat it with the worth it has."

Nessiah stood, stretched, and sat against the arm of the chair. "You're good with children, better than most I know," he said, changing the subject for Roswell's sake. "I hadn't known."

"They're our future," Roswell said simply, then sighed. "…A future that seems to be coming under attack again."

A strange sadness came into Flone's face then, one that puzzled Nessiah. Roswell noticed it too, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, shaking his head seriously.

"We'll fight to protect that future, for as long as it's in our power," he told her gravely. "Every one of us will fight. Russell alone would rather lose his sword arm than allow anything to happen to you."

Flone managed a smile and nodded, covering his hand with hers.

Realization hit Nessiah heavily, making him feel foolish for not noticing before even as his knees felt strangely weak. "…You're pregnant," he whispered, the surprise keeping him from being able to hold his tongue.

Now when Flone smiled, it lit up her whole face, and she rested her hand to her lower belly. "It's only been two months—still not quite long enough to really announce it," she said. "But still, I give thanks every day. Russell and I can't wait to welcome our baby to this world."

Speechless, all Nessiah could do was nod. There were too many things he wanted to say, from how he was sure Flone would make a wonderful mother to his pledge that the world would be peaceful again in seven months if he and the others had any say in things, and he couldn't get any of them out.

There'd certainly been enough children in the orphanage he'd grown up in, but normally angelic couples only ever had one or two children—if any at all—over the course of their long lives. As a result of this, angels didn't conceive or give birth lightly.

Humans were different. Nessiah _knew _that, knew that some peasant women had as many as five or six children and generally lost one or two to disease or accidents, although in general they doted on those they had nonetheless. Still, he'd never been much involved with human birth or expectant mothers.

Not even with Paltina. He'd avoided her, avoided those memories, given her a wide berth for years afterwards. It had been too soon, far too soon after—_that person—_for him to welcome intimacy. The conscious realization that Paltineas had to be his hadn't even fully sunken in until he'd left them, though somewhere deep down he'd always known.

Because of all that—or maybe just because Russell and Flone were people he knew, people who'd become part of his motley extended family—a strange kind of awe had come over Nessiah, making it difficult for him even to speak.

"It's far too early for it to move, of course, but…" Flone cast her eyes down and smiled. "For those of us with magic… we can still feel it. It's a beautiful thing. Here…"

And before Nessiah could protest, she'd crossed the room, lifted his hand, and pressed it to her lower belly.

He _could _feel it, he realized with a shock. There was a warm and steady glow of energy beneath his fingers—energy that would, in seven months' time, resolve itself into new life. A new life, and once it had drawn breath, a new soul, a new consciousness. A _person. _It was incredible to think, and even more incredible to realize that such a miracle as this was almost commonplace in this world.

It was strangely humbling, and it was a feeling Nessiah doubted he would ever fully understand. Still, his fingers trembled slightly beneath Flone's.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" she said simply.

"It… is," was all he could offer in reply.

--

Nessiah made his way to the highest spires of the castle, his head aching with everything he had to think about. Flone's pregnancy—the growing intensity of his connection with Roswell—what to do about Gulcasa—what to do about Asgard. The impossibility of it all was swelling up until he felt he'd be crushed by it.

And so, now that the option was open to him, he was going to do what had always been best at clearing his head.

Roswell, they'd decided, would stay at Flone's clinic and keep helping her for the next hour or so; with all the new material he would learn, he'd be able to stay busy without thinking too much about yesterday. That, at least, took a great weight off Nessiah's shoulders. Now that he didn't have to worry so deeply about his lover, he could give himself to the sky without preoccupations.

Nessiah climbed carefully up onto the belfry ledge, shifting his weight from toes to heels as the wind pushed at him, and laid a hand to his pactio card.

"Adeat."

Just as it had the last two times he'd released the restorative spell, the force of his transformation sent a wide burst of black and white feathers through the air, and Nessiah stretched his wings with a smile as he watched them drift lazily towards the ground.

Despite how long it had been, some things would always remain instinctive. The wind picked up insistently, and Nessiah mantled his wings, spreading them parallel to the earth below to catch the first few drafts.

Of course, the tower arch was far too narrow. He wouldn't be able to spread them fully and let the wind pick him up from here.

A younger Nessiah wouldn't have cared, would just have flung himself headlong from the small opening and spread his wings to catch himself only ten or fifteen feet from the hard ground. The centuries—and the knowledge that death would take precious years away from his time with these all-too-ephemeral humans—made him a little more cautious.

Stretching to adjust to the lack of weight along his arms, Nessiah folded his wings close to his back and picked his way along the thin ledge to the rough brick and tiling of the outer wall. Old and cracked as it was, it offered a multitude of handholds. Not letting himself think of the drop below, Nessiah swung himself lightly onto it and climbed steadily up to the slightly rounded roof and its oxidized copper weathervane.

As he stretched his wings high and smiled at the sweet feel of the muscles working, another, stronger gust of wind tossed his robes up around his hips. Belatedly, Nessiah remembered he wasn't wearing anything beneath them today, and held them down flusteredly.

Still, it felt nice. It felt _free, _far freer than he'd been even as a child in the cloisters of Asgard.

Balancing himself with one hand on the vane's cutout phoenix and folding his wings close in, Nessiah bent slightly and removed his sandals, slipping them into the voluminous folds of his robes. Even Kylier would probably be surprised by how often he did this with small things—it was one of the reasons why he hadn't discarded his badly tattered overrobe in favor of newer and nicer clothes.

Barefoot, Nessiah approached the sharp bell curve of the tower roof in delicate steps, then turned his back on the open expanse below, looking out over the castle instead. He rose up on his toes, raised his face to the heavens, stretched out his arms at his sides… and leaned back.

He closed his eyes as he fell, and enjoyed the heady sensation of the fall, letting the wind buffet and tease at his clothes, his feathers, his skin. It felt almost the same as soaring, and had his belly tight with exhilaration and excitement, the same as with open flight. There was nothing but him, and the air, and sweet freedom.

Even so, he couldn't forget that the ground was somewhere below, and so after a time he judged sufficient, Nessiah tucked his knees close to his chest and flipped in the air, spreading his wings dramatically. They strained at the air, but held him on the thermal updrafts.

Opening his eyes, Nessiah glanced down to see that the earth was still a good thirty or thirty-five feet below him, and smiled. Instinct never really faded, and flight had always been one of his great loves during his childhood in Asgard. Celina had teased him about it good-naturedly a few times, and pointed out that he should be thankful for his short stature and delicate bone structure. Even with big wings, big angels never really flew all that well. Nessiah, tiny and bird-boned as he was, freely owned the skies.

That was the way it felt, too, as his wings' muscles made minute contractions and stretches, keeping him aloft. These were not the skies he'd grown up with. But they were skies nonetheless, and after so long, they were his at last.

They were his.

Nessiah tucked and angled his wings, keeping his limbs close in to his body; it was best not to stretch out unless you were in full dive, and better to just let your wings carry you. He flapped them once or twice, reveling in the powerful motion, to change direction or gain height, but mostly coasted on the thermals, flying out over the castle and the city into the fields beyond.

And it was there that he noticed Gulcasa and his dragon heading for the castle below, and banked hard towards them with a call before he could think better of it.

Gulcasa looked up, puzzled, at the sound of his voice; when he spotted Nessiah his expression changed from a look of confusion to one of wonderment.

Only once he was well into the drop and couldn't change his course did Nessiah realize that his aim was off, and he would wind up crashing into Gulcasa instead of landing in front of him. But as he braced himself for impact, Gulcasa held both arms out and scooped his friend out of the sky, holding Nessiah close against his chest.

"Hello there," Gulcasa said with a smile and an upraised eyebrow. Nessiah blushed.

"Sorry," he managed breathlessly. "I—guess I got caught up."

"I saw you once or twice a little earlier, zipping around and enjoying the hell out of it. Please, don't bother stopping on my account." There was a great deal of secretive amusement in Gulcasa's golden eyes, and Nessiah couldn't help but wonder what had sparked it with a bit of trepidation.

_Good _gods, _he wasn't looking—up—? _Nessiah thought with a flash of realization and a sudden well of panicked mortification. _I was being careful, I'm sure, but—I could easily have forgotten—please tell me I was being careful. And Gulcasa—he's not _that _kind of man, is he?_

"You're getting redder," Gulcasa pointed out mischievously. "There something you want to tell me, Nessa?"

"No." _Please, _gods, _if I deserve nothing else from you._

"We'll leave it at that, then." Still, Gulcasa laughed and shook his head.

The sudden urge rose in Nessiah's chest to rake his hands through that brilliant scarlet hair, to pull Gulcasa to him and explore the sensual angles of the emperor's face with his lips, to kiss them both deaf and blind. Trying desperately to stifle it, he instead rested his cheek to Gulcasa's shoulder and wrapped his hands loosely in the folds of his friend's shirt.

This had been a very, very bad idea.

"Hey, I didn't mean to make fun," Gulcasa said, bemused, and lightly shifted Nessiah against him. "Mind if I put you down? We're heading in, before Bella gets all riled up again."

"Oh—of course." Embarrassed again, Nessiah let go and allowed Gulcasa to set him on the grass. Avoiding his friend's gaze, he retrieved his sandals from the folds of his robes and slipped them back on.

"Hang on, you've got…" Holding Bella's reins with one hand, Gulcasa reached with the other to tease through Nessiah's flight-ruffled hair. After a moment of fiddling with the angel's bangs, Gulcasa pulled a fluffy down feather from them, lightly brushing it over Nessiah's cheek before releasing it to dance on the wind.

Nessiah went scarlet again, thinking wryly that the veins just beneath his skin were certainly getting a workout today. "Th…thank you."

Gulcasa just stood there looking at him with that crooked smile.

A little defensively, Nessiah crossed his arms and blinked up at his friend. "What?"

"Nothing, really. Just thinking… God, it does me good to see you like this. All flushed-up and cute, not just from being picked on, but from having fun again. Just a minute ago, when you were up there? I think that was probably the happiest I've seen you since we met." Gulcasa traced the joints of Nessiah's black wing, then settled his hand on the angel's shoulder. "It looks good on you, Nessa."

Nothing more than sheer force of will was able to keep Nessiah from yanking Gulcasa down to him for that savagely desperate kiss, and it was a closely fought battle. Caught between two dangerously beautiful men who just plowed straight through his defenses as though they didn't exist—Nessiah knew he was wading through dangerous territory.

And he could barely remember why he didn't want to venture deeper.

"Come on." Gulcasa slipped his big hand over Nessiah's, tugged it gently. "Let's get back to the castle. Whether Bella thinks so or not, she needs a good watering down and a rest."

Bella gave an indignant snort at this, but like Nessiah, she followed along readily when Gulcasa began the way back.

--

Nietzsche was heading towards the palace after a solid hour and a half spent splashing with the local children in the river when she felt a pulse from the Transmigragem.

Bewildered, she turned her big blue eyes down to the jewel at her chest. She hadn't felt it react like that for a long time—it chimed a little, sort of, when new Undine souls were brought through it for rebirth, but she only felt it move like a heartbeat when powerful magic was being worked nearby. And not even Nessiah's pact magic had been able to make it stir.

Not sure whether or not she wanted to know but unable to keep her curiosity in check, Nietzsche headed towards the courtyards, where she thought the pulse had come from. And was seriously tempted to just head back into the halls when she saw that crazy Pamela on the edge of a messy magic circle, waving her fingers through the air as she chanted as if she was conducting music.

With a bad feeling firmly lodged in her belly, Nietzsche ventured across the grass.

"What are you doing?"

Pamela turned, and a bright smile spread across her face. "Heeeey! It's my little Undine, come to watch me perform!"

Nietzsche curled her tail flukes in and shrank back a little, the bad feeling sinking.

Not seeming to notice or care, Pamela grinned and puffed out her chest. "Pamela's gonna summon the forest guardians!"

The worried weight in Nietzsche's belly changed quickly to restless butterflies. She and the others had seen the power of Pamela's forest spells as they'd left Marduk, but they all knew very well that when Pamela tried to invoke them outside the boundaries of her homeland, it was as arbitrary as a coin toss as to whether or not the witch's magic would work properly. Pamela never seemed to notice it, though, and kept on cheerfully heaping trouble on everyone's heads regardless.

"Nietzsche doesn't think this is a good idea…" she said slowly, but typically, Pamela had turned back to the circle and was conducting again.

"By the powers of the Great Elm and the Mighty Oak, unveil your magic wings of beauty and mystery," Pamela chanted energetically. "Come to us, O spirits of wood and glade!"

There was a vast explosion of pink and purple smoke which quickly gave away to oily black. Nietzsche covered her mouth and coughed, shielding the precious Transmigragem with her other hand.

"Did it work?" Pamela was shouting gleefully, bouncing up on her toes. Nietzsche moaned. The girl just _never _seemed to learn…

When the last of the smoke cleared, Nietzsche saw that the thing standing in the middle of Pamela's scribbled circle was no fairy.

It looked more like a wolf. A big _blue _wolf, with two heads. And a coiled snake for a tail. And red eyes. And drool dripping from its jaws.

It looked hungry.

Pamela put her hands on her hips and pouted. "Whaaaaat? You're not what Pamela wanted. Bad doggie! Go back where you came from!" So saying, she waved her hands at the beast.

Its response was to snarl and slaver and poke its wet black noses out of the circle bounds, snapping at Pamela's fingers.

She squealed and jumped back, her blue eyes going wide and puzzled. "Huuuuh? Hey—I never said you could go out of the circle!"

Even so, the big dog—wolf—whatever-it-was was padding out of it, lowering its heads and bristling, licking its chops as it stared resolutely at Pamela.

While the witch was annoying and kinda scary and tended to think like she was from some kind of weird backwards world, she was still an ally. So Nietzsche barely thought twice before grabbing Pamela by the wrist and yanking her away from her summoned creature, retreating towards the castle halls.

"Come on, you stupid Pamela! _Run!"_

As the two of them fled for their lives, the beast snorted and gave chase.

--

Nessiah sensed the change in the air immediately, and went stiff with it, his eyes huge with shock and fear, his wings mantling.

"What is it?" Gulcasa turned down to him in confusion, then began to tense. "No—it's not angels again?!"

Nessiah shook his head. "No—this feeling… it's not from Asgard, it's from _Utgard! _This aura… it's demonic, I'm sure it is!"

_"Demons?" _Gulcasa repeated incredulously.

"I don't know what's going on, but—we have to hurry!" Folding his wings at his back, Nessiah sprinted towards the castle bounds.

"Well, damn," was all Gulcasa said, but he swung up into Bella's saddle and kneed her after him nonetheless.

The two of them managed to reach the castle halls just as Pamela and Nietzsche plowed by, and the two-headed beast slavered around the corner towards them.

"Bella—let's go!" With that, Gulcasa summoned his Artifact, and he and his dragon were charging down the hall to stymie the demon where it ran. Gulcasa's first strike nearly took off the beast's noses, and whenever it tried to dodge around him, he was there, blocking the thing with his scythe.

It was hard, one of the hardest things Nessiah had ever done, to turn his back on the horrible snarling and look to the girls. Still, he did it, telling himself sharply that if he couldn't trust Gulcasa to hold off the demon for barely a few moments unattended, he wasn't worthy of being his friend's magister.

"How did we manage to get a mid-level demon in the castle?" he asked breathlessly, bending over to give Nietzsche, then Pamela an arm up from where they'd collapsed on the floor.

Arguing even now, they imparted the tale of the botched summoning to him in turns.

Nessiah shook his head helplessly. _Only Pamela, _he thought to himself ruefully as he ran his hands through his hair, let out a tense breath. "Nietzsche—this is very important. Go find Yggdra. I don't care what you have to tear her out of, I need her here five minutes ago. We'll need her power to restrain and banish this thing. Pamela… stay here, but back, and out of the way. We may need you to help keep it occupied, and send it back wherever it came from. Do you understand?" Both girls nodded, their eyes huge with identical fear. "Good. Then do it!"

Knowing his orders would be obeyed, Nessiah turned his back on them and held his right arm out, concentrating bitterly. There was a rush of power through his muscles, and then white light streamed from his fingers, solidifying into an ethereal blade about two and a half feet long. It hummed with magic, and little pulses of lightning flickered over its length. Holding his hand steady, Nessiah pushed himself off the ground in a few dashing steps, blessing the castle architects for the width and arched ceiling of the hall.

At that moment, Gulcasa broke through the demon's guard and sliced off one of its heads. The severed head vanished into smoke before it even hit tile, and with a sick sound of sinew twisting, flesh surged up from the bleeding stump to form a new head.

"What the _hell?!" _Gulcasa demanded, backing Bella up a pace as he went pale.

"A demon this powerful needs to have its vital organs completely destroyed to die," Nessiah called from above. "Since we can't do that and we don't have demon-killing weapons, all we can do is hold it until Yggdra gets here! We can use her power to banish it then!"

"Right…" Gulcasa shifted his grip on Bella's reins and whirled Flamma Imperia in a wide circle beside him, shaking most of the demon's blood off the blade.

As Gulcasa kept the heads busy dodging his scythe, Nessiah slashed at it with the power he'd gathered. When the blow connected, no physical wound opened, but a powerful burst of electricity crawled through the creature's body, and it yelped, skittering back. Nessiah dipped and angled his wings to follow up, but something long and sinuous and hard slammed into his body, catching him completely off-guard.

The force of the blow knocked him against the wall with a sick crack. Pain shot through his wings and speared through his skull, and he slid down the smooth stone to land in a nerveless heap on the floor, his vision blurring.

_"Nessiah!"_

For a moment, it was like the demon ceased to exist when Gulcasa saw his partner hit the ground. He flung himself from Bella's back without even a thought to it or her or Pamela and ran to the angel's side, lightly touching the side of Nessiah's throat. His pulse was thready and unstable, but it was there.

"Shit, shit. Nessa. Nessa, come on, listen. Just stay with me, you can't go under now."

Either in response to Gulcasa's voice or his touch, Nessiah shook his head weakly and moaned a little, his eyelids fluttering.

"Yeah, that's it. Come on. Look at me. At _me," _Gulcasa repeated, cursing to himself. Nessiah had hit his head so hard against the wall, chances were good he'd hurt something inside. And weren't healers always saying sight was controlled by the back of the brain?

Still, Nessiah's eyes half-opened and fixed on Gulcasa. Their blue was nearly black with dizziness and swimming with pain, but they were focused.

_Concussion, _Gulcasa decided with a sigh of relief. _Oh, baby. _Carefully, he pulled Nessiah away from the wall and tried to ignore the convulsive little jerks of the angel's mismatched wings, and would've kept crooning support to him had the demon not snarled, reminding Gulcasa of its presence.

But as he turned, he saw that Bella was firmly in the demon's way, the light ruff of her scales bristling, a low warning hiss rumbling from her chest as she stood guard over her human.

The demon laid its ears flat and backed up, then its heads swiveled around to where Pamela was still standing further down the hall. She gave a little yelp and began to back away, but slipped and fell hard on her behind, folding her legs in close to her body.

But as the two-headed beast began to prowl towards her, another voice rang from further down the hall:

_"Sagitta Magica, series obscuris!"_

Seven thin bolts of darkness shot towards the demon, several of them striking. As it howled and milled back, Gulcasa stared from it to where the spell had come from. Roswell was standing behind Pamela with both his hands outstretched, his narrow chest heaving.

Seeing the confusion on Gulcasa's face, the necromancer shook his head. "I was able to sense that you two were fighting," he explained. "I came as quickly as I could… is Nessiah alright?"

"Uh? Ah—yeah, he should be better in a little… Roswell, this thing's dangerous—don't take stupid chances if you're going to fight it!" _Aside from you getting hurt not being good in and of itself, Nessiah will kill me…_

"Don't worry," Roswell said in a tone that was much more steady. He drew his pactio card from his sleeve, and held it out. "Adeat!"

--

Rosary was sitting in a plush windowsill with a book and a cup of tea when she first heard the clamor, and saw people bustling and pushing past each other, heading for the nearby stairs.

"…Now what's this about?" she wondered aloud, a little annoyed. One young courtier spotted her as she said it, and grabbed her shoulder, hauling her up.

"Come on, milady, you'd best be going too—there's some kind of demon loose in the eastern hall!"

"Huh?" Rosary set her tea down to avoid spilling it, and removed the man's hand. "Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I don't need the handling. What do you mean by 'demon'?"

"I don't know, I didn't see it myself! But we have to hurry—the Undine princess is looking for Her Majesty, and my lord Roswell already went down there to help, so it must be serious!"

Instantly, Rosary's mood soured. "…Roswell, huh? …Yeah, right. Demon, my ass." She shook her head bitterly and sat back down, stubbornly opening her book. "They're just playing more stupid, manipulative tricks."

"Milady…" The courtier looked confused, but still worried.

"Go, then, if you must," Rosary said with a disgusted sigh, waving a hand at him. "I wouldn't run if I were in your place, but I don't care, and you're beginning to bore me. You're dismissed from my presence."

He was gone and she'd firmly entrenched herself in her cushions with her tea and novella when she began to feel power building at the edges of her perception, and began to wonder uneasily if there _wasn't _something afoot after all.

That was when the screaming started.

--

Roswell held out his hands, power streaming from them into the glyph glowing against the floor. His focus was true, and his Ankh burned brightly against the darkness of the hall though the edges of panic roiled at the sudden tightness in his belly. He wouldn't falter. He'd faced down worse.

At least, he was fairly sure the archangel Marietta counted as worse.

It wasn't time for such thoughts, and Roswell stifled them angrily, reminding himself of Pamela cowering behind him, of—God—Nessiah cradled half-conscious in Gulcasa's arms.

"Wretched souls pounding at Hell's gate…"

Darkness was part of the earth, part of nature. And as Roswell knew with the certainty of one who'd wielded it often and well, certain facets of it were best used to heal.

Other facets were perverse, and bent life to its will. Just like any magic could. But Roswell doubted that any other elements offered such wickedly sensual pleasure as this did. There was good and evil in darkness, and the evil in it was seductive. Horribly, terrifyingly seductive.

Maybe what was more frightening than being seduced, being tempted, was knowing how close he'd come to giving in. Because it was like clinging shakily to the edges of godhood. It was glorious.

As a necromancer, Roswell constantly walked that razor-thin line between darkness and evil. And every step was a struggle.

"It is I who hold the key!"

A fissure opened across the width of the glyph, straight through the floor of the castle. Roswell narrowed his eyes against the bright light, and saw the fragments of bone rising from the deep, deep earth, building into human skeletons carrying clubs and maces and whatever other weapons seemed handy to them. The rumbling ended when there were six of them, and the fissure sealed perfectly.

Roswell gestured widely with his left arm. "Go."

But before his skeleton servants could even begin to attack, the demon ploughed through them, scattering them into lifeless bits of bone once more, the fangs of its left head ripping Roswell's arm open from wrist to shoulder.

Shock and a little indignation let him coast past the pain enough to lash out with his magic, send the beast skidding back with a series of yelps, but as the blood began to soak the ruined sleeve of his robe, the agony slammed over Roswell in a crippling wave. He clutched the worst of the wound with his right hand, but knew he couldn't stanch the bleeding for long. And realized bitterly as the demon began a slow prowl forward that he was all but useless now.

"Omne flammans flamma purgatus… domine exctinctionis et signum regenerationis! _Flagrantia Rubicans!"_

A wave of fire streamed from over Roswell's shoulder to envelop the demon, making it yelp and wail, and an angry hand grabbed him by his uninjured arm, hauling him back a few steps.

"Rosary…?"

Giving him another shove for good measure, the witch assumed a battle stance, her broom in one hand and a Tactics Card in the other. "Next time, call me first and give yourself less chance of bungling things, you stupid Roswell," was all she said.

"While I must admit that was a nice save, I also have to tell you that trying to kill this thing is a bad idea," Gulcasa said flatly from where he held Nessiah. "Where the _hell _is Yggdra?"

"Here!"

Roswell, Rosary, and Pamela all turned to see that Nietzsche and Yggdra were barreling down the hall.

"What should I do?" Yggdra asked between panting breaths.

On the other side of the room, Nessiah stirred in Gulcasa's arms, pulling himself up painfully on his ministel's shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he reached out towards the demon, gathering his magic and his focus.

"Sagitta Magica, aer capturae!"

Thin lances of wind shot from his hand to wrap around the demon's body, restraining it so tightly that no matter how the creature wiggled, it couldn't break free.

"Cast Banish on it," he managed to call over the demon's frustrated snarls. "Use your scepter in the casting… and it'll be forced back to its own world." It hurt to yell like this; sound drove sharp spikes of agony through his skull—but Yggdra had to hear.

"I-I understand!"

Whether she actually did or not, Yggdra held the Scepter of Wisdom high and called the incantation in a clear voice: "O shepherd with earthly body and heavenly soul, strike down evil with holy light!"

With the staff's power, the simple holy spell was amplified sevenfold, and bold green-white light shone down from the cross at the artifact's head, enveloping the demon's body completely. It howled—a sound more rage than pain—and its shadow within the brilliant light began to fade, evaporating into a little twist of ugly smoke.

Yggdra sagged with relief, as did everyone else. Nessiah closed his eyes and rested back against Gulcasa. His head hurt like all hell, and he just wanted everything to go away until it _stopped._

There were explanations, and Yggdra scolded Pamela in a relieved tone, hugging the younger girl close. Nietzsche told everyone else that she'd already sent Kylier off to find Flone, since she'd had a feeling they'd need a good healer. Durant clattered onto the scene in full plate armor, mounted on his charger, and it had to be explained to him that the battle was already over.

Amidst the clamor, Roswell turned to Rosary with soulful eyes. "…Thank you… it seems you've saved me yet again, haven't you?"

Rosary shook her head and ran her hands through her hair to avoid his gaze. "…Don't mention it. Someone's got to be around to keep your idiot head on your shoulders."

"And—about yesterday. I'm sorry."

"Don't mention that, either."

"I mean it—I really _didn't—"_ Roswell continued, that desperation lighting his eyes again.

Rosary held up a hand. "I mean _really _don't mention it. I'd rather not talk about that, if it's all the same to you."

Roswell fell silent, and they stood not quite looking at each other for some time.

Eventually, Rosary reached out and laid her hand on Roswell's shoulder, letting it rest there as easily as it could. Roswell glanced at her in surprise, then covered her fingers with his.

Gulcasa, who'd been watching, shook his head and turned down to Nessiah, still huddled against his chest with his eyes squeezed shut and his wings folded in protectively.

"I guess all's well that ends well," he said in a low, amused tone.

Nessiah opened his eyes and let his line of sight flick towards the witch and necromancer for a moment before he closed them again, tucking his face back into Gulcasa's shirt.

"…I doubt you could be further off, but I'll wait to argue with you about it later, once we've seen healers."

Gulcasa shook his head at his partner, but put his arm about Nessiah's shoulders nonetheless.

**(tsuzuku)**


	11. Razorsharp Lilies

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Gently, Nessiah tightened the knots of Roswell's soft linen bandages, then ran his fingertips across their length. They covered the entirety of the young necromancer's upper arm and shoulder, and ran down the slight swell of muscle in his forearm. There was no longer that deep burgundy splash across their soft white, but seeing them still put a little quiver deep down in Nessiah's belly.

Roswell's wounds could so easily have been worse.

"What's got you so serious?" Roswell asked gently, that lightly teasing note in his tone and a sweet smile on his face. "You've got that look on, Nessiah."

Nessiah shook his head and let his fingers run down Roswell's arm to his wrist, raising his lover's hand to brush his lips over Roswell's fingertips. "You scared me," he replied softly, honestly.

_"You _scared _me," _Roswell told him with a laugh, reaching up with his free hand to ruffle Nessiah's hair. "Seeing you lying there in so much pain nearly made my heart drop out of my body. Besides, this isn't serious. You know Flone's been seeing to it; in another day and a half it'll be as though it never happened."

"You didn't need to worry about me—you know I have a hard head," Nessiah said dismissively. "But you—gods, Roswell. Maybe it's not as bad as it could be, but I can't help that I feel this way. Human lives are so very fragile… if that demon had bitten a few inches to the side you'd have lost your arm."

"We're both alright," Roswell told him soothingly, hooking his fingers through Nessiah's chains to pull him down for a kiss. "We're both alright, so what point is there in terrifying ourselves with could-have-beens? Everyone's just fine, and we managed to send that thing back where it came from."

Nessiah rested his hand over Roswell's bandaged arm again as he leaned in close, his cheek to his lover's forehead. Even through the linen and the soft cloth pad laid beneath it to absorb any blood, he could feel that Roswell's skin was hotter here as the blood gathered to clot and repair what damage remained. "My point is… that although it galls me to admit it, Rosary's constant scolding that you should use a staff is perfectly right. As you are now, you have no way to physically defend yourself, and if we wind up fighting angels again, we just can't risk having you on the front lines of battle."

"…………" Roswell sighed and shook his head slightly, his hair silken against Nessiah's skin. "It's always been my preference not to. Would you abandon your spellbook, your Revelation, if I told you it would be safer for you to take up a stave?"

"Now, that's a different matter, and both of us know it," Nessiah scolded gently, holding Roswell a little more tightly. "I can use a sword or even just raw magic to defend myself, and my body can take a great deal more strain than yours. And even if I were to die, I would come back. You won't. I just want you to consider it, Roswell. The Southern Cross is always there if you ever have need of it."

Roswell was silent for a while, and Nessiah fully understood why. Much like his ring, the deep crimson staff topped with a ruby ankh known as Southern Cross was a family heirloom; unlike the ring, it hadn't been given to him, and ordinarily it wouldn't have come to him for a while. After the deaths of Roswell's parents, it had been discovered in Lady Rosemary's will that she'd named her treasured staff among those belongings she wished to pass to her son.

"…Maybe someday," Roswell said reluctantly. "When I feel… I've earned it more."

"Alright," Nessiah agreed gently. He knew better than to keep pushing when Roswell had that desolate expression. "Just keep it in mind. Now—what is it you have in mind for the rest of the day? I do have a few things I'm working on, but perhaps I'll join you."

"Actually, I was thinking of heading down to the hot springs," Roswell said with a smile, sitting back on the bed to give Nessiah an inviting look. "Would you be willing to come along?"

Nessiah hesitated. "…Maybe another time." This time of day, there would probably be a few other people down at the hot springs in one of the more secluded pockets of Castle Paltina. After all, they were essentially public baths, even if there were separate sections for men and women. And if he was going to bathe, Nessiah preferred to do so privately.

It was one thing when he was with Kylier or Roswell, who were well aware of and accepted his dark secrets—they'd been in his heart, in his _soul, _and that was as naked as you could possibly be with another person—and when it came to healers, as they'd seen everything and could be objective about it all. But when ordinary, everyday folk saw the scars where his wings had been…

He hated that feeling. It was like being a tiny child again, and having people whisper back and forth to each other about taint and deformity when they looked at his mismatched wings—only it was a thousand times worse because in their eyes he knew he was crippled, and he couldn't stand the feel of their stares on him. Whether it was horror or disgust or just pity, it was too much for him to bear. It made him feel small and helpless, exposed and vulnerable.

He _hated _it.

"Some other time, then." Roswell nodded, sympathy and just a little regret in those arresting eyes. The tight caged feeling around Nessiah's heart eased a little to see it.

"At night," he said, and smiled. "If there's no one around, no one will mind if we… take a few liberties with our time, will they?"

"Hmph…" Roswell smirked. "I don't suppose they will. What they don't know won't hurt them, after all."

"Certainly not." Nessiah sighed, then stretched. "This being the case… I think I'll spend a little time today just _making _things. It's been a while since I've been able to, and I miss it. When you're done at the springs… come find me in my workrooms, and we'll gather the others from there. With all this chaos we've barely had any time to practice with the contracts these days."

"True that…" Roswell's slight nod was thoughtful as he stood, gathered up his robes, and slipped back into them. "Then… I'll see you this afternoon, Nessiah."

"And I you… hopefully for some successes," Nessiah said lightly, and left the room.

--

Back when they'd been packing for the trip to Paltina, Gulcasa had expressed complete disbelief at the idea that Nessiah might manage to get the scattered contents of his workroom into anything that would actually fit in the carriage, let alone leave room for other passengers and their luggage. Nessiah had taken the smart remarks in stride—everyone on the short list of people he allowed into the few rooms he made his home either remarked aloud or got a look on their face that said it looked like something had exploded in there. Nevertheless, it had taken only a few hours for Nessiah to pack the lot of it into a few chests and a larger trunk, and even less time for the mess to spread itself out again after he'd unpacked.

To outsiders, Nessiah knew that his workrooms must look like nothing more than a pit of seething chaos. Papers were scattered across the desks and floor, and a jumble of wire, jewels, and tongs was a cheerful spread across the central table. Fire snapped enthusiastically beneath the kiln as it always did, inviting him to spend a few hours molding and baking clay. Everything reached out and pulled at him, clamoring to have its inner potential reached.

Closing the door behind him, Nessiah leaned against it with a sigh and a smile. Maybe if someone else wandered in, all they would see was a mess. But when he walked in, it felt like home.

Nessiah always made a point to set up one of these wherever he spent any great length of time. There was one here, one in Karona, one in Flarewerk and in Welheim, and several in other locations besides. Even in his most paranoid years, fearing that he would be recognized at every turn, he'd never been able to stifle his drive to create. No amount of common sense could ever tear him away from artifice.

"About finished here, I think…" he murmured aloud, delicately crossing the webbing of loose paper on the floor to open his crucible and remove the metals and jewels that had been baking inside.

Here were the latest pair of studs Nessiah had been crafting for Kylier—topaz and citrine in bright gold, shaped into stars—and the pendant he'd been working on for the past several days. The earrings were simple jewelry, nothing more, but as he intended the pendant as a protective charm—and its design was considerably more elaborate—he was being a great deal more particular with the facets of its forging.

Gold wore down far too easily, so he'd gone with the far more stable bronze, heating it and shaping it carefully by the day. After so long, it had finally solidified into the form of one of the dragons of old in miniature, its wings spread widely and its tail and clawed paws curled forward. The back was smoothed and rounded over, so it would still be comfortable to wear, but it wasn't cut into a relief.

The dragon's abdomen was formed from a smooth, deep scarlet ruby which Nessiah had found some time ago and been saving for something like this. He'd polished it down to a perfect oval and refined it so that it became a magical amplifier. With the ruby and bronze settled and welded together, the pendant was almost complete. All that was left to do was to actually inlay the spells he'd planned for it.

Threading the thin but sturdy chain through the back of the pendant, Nessiah fastened it, then rested the dragon in his left hand. The metal was cooling rapidly, and it felt heavy there; it was a little bigger than his palm, and would probably look awkward on someone of his slight body structure.

On Gulcasa, though, it would look a lot more natural.

Lacing his fingers together, Nessiah fixed the ruby with a half-focused stare, rocking slightly from his heels to his toes and back to facilitate the trancelike state best for spells like this. Unlike in battle, he wouldn't be casting structured, defined magic; whatever he put into this little bronze-and-ruby dragon would be from the heart. Doing what felt right, casting by intuition, was always deeper and more powerful magic than academia.

"Through blood, and sacrifice, your protection has been cast across these lands. You have given all for peace; I will give all to see that peace extend unto you. From this moment unto eternity, may he who wears this emblem be forever granted my protection, even as he carries my love and my heart. As a weaver at the loom of fate, this is my prayer… one times three. As I will, so mote it be."

Nessiah repeated the cant twice more, closing his hands around the charm and holding it to his chest. The words and the truth to them hurt as he spoke them, but that was the risk in letting the heart lead in magic. Somehow, it managed to cleanly supplant every ounce of self-defense and leave the truth bare and defenseless until it cut you down to your knees.

He had never _wanted _to fall in love with Gulcasa, but since he had, his entire existence had been rewritten. His feelings chained him as surely as the gods had, and there would never be an escape from them. Deathless as he was, he still felt at the center of himself that loving Gulcasa would be the death of him yet.

Undone by love—again—Nessiah opened his palms and considered the pendant. Its metal was hot, and the ruby glowed with a bright and flamelike light. Halfheartedly, he wondered if it would even be worth giving this to Gulcasa at all. True, love had added to the strength of the protections immensely, but—more than a protective charm, this was now a token of his affection. It wasn't fair to put it in the hands of someone who'd accept it unthinkingly, not knowing what it really represented.

"…No," he said aloud, squeezing the heavy charm until the tips of the wings and claws bit against his fingers. "No, I will give it to him. I'm not a 'fair' person. Maybe it's selfish, but… if it hurts me, or hurts him, he'll still be safer with it on. It will serve its purpose."

Thoroughly depressed, Nessiah pulled back his chair, sat heavily, and rested his face and arms on the cluttered table with a sigh.

--

"…So I asked him what he was doing out there looking like he'd just run from the old base to the Capital and back a couple times, and he says, 'Training, what's it look like?' And first I'm like, _What the heck does this stupid Milanor mean, he's _training? _I've never seen any kind of _training _like this, _but he gets this look on his face like he can tell what I'm thinking, and goes, 'I'm not letting any stupid angel beat me'. I kinda wanted to break his nose and point out that it's not some damn competition between him and Nessiah, but I figured that'd be useless anyway and left him to it."

Yggdra giggled helplessly, and Kylier grinned.

"Well, I mean, _c'mon. _It's _Milanor _we're talking about—he's got the hardest head out of everybody in Norn and Lost Aries combined. And even if he _is _kind of a moron about stuff like this, he's got a point."

"A point about what?" Yggdra asked.

"Including Nessiah, there are like five of us with contracts. Meaning five of us that can actually fight angels, and you can't do that unless we're really down to the wire. What's the rest of the world gonna do if it comes down to a big battle? Go 'eek' and try to hide behind us? That'll get us all killed. No, everybody else has just gotta get stronger. Milanor's doing it for kinda the wrong reason, but he gets it on some level."

Yggdra nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, Kylier. …Maybe we _do _have to gather the old forces and get them to begin preparations. But…" She made a face. "The only problem is how we introduce this to them… the Royal Army has been disbanded for months, and I swore that we would never go to war again. How can I ask my people to prepare for another battle without looking like a complete hypocrite, and letting other countries think I'm going back on my word and they're in danger of Fantasinian expansionism again?"

"Okay, yeah, that _is _a problem." Kylier shrugged. "Not being diplomatically inclined, I don't know what I should tell you. It all comes down to how you present the issue, I guess. But until we have to, let's keep it to just the old commanders, and the original soldiers. This's a battle of self-defense, Yggdra. What I mean is—how to put it… we won't ever be attacking Asgard. I mean, obviously we can't, but even if we could. That'd justify what they're saying about us, and what other people might think about your intentions. We'll fight if they threaten us, and only then."

Yggdra sighed and nodded and sighed again. "I just keep wondering why this has to happen now… the reconstruction for the areas damaged by the war was almost complete, and I was looking forward to peaceful, ordinary days so _much…"_

Kylier made a face and patted the young Queen's shoulder. _Responsibility sucks ass, and there's so much _responsibility _we've gotta deal with now that Yggdra and Gulcasa and everybody else'll be old and gray by next year. Ugh, and if we could just figure out why these stupid angels are after us, it'd be over a lot quicker._

"Well, at least there's still baths for relieving stress," she said aloud. "C'mon."

One of the precarious things about having the capital of Fantasinia sheltered in the curve of the Lenessey mountain range was that there were a good few of those mountains that were actually volcanoes. It was rare for them to do much more than spit lava testily every ten to twenty years, but whenever they did, it wasn't unheard-of for the entire city to get down on its knees and thank the gods for the wide expanse of water between them and the mountains.

There was a plus side to it, though—magicians and mechanics had conceived a way to draw up a bit of the heat from the molten earth below the palace to create a wide hot spring inside the castle. Over the years, it had become the favored retreat of the royal family and courtiers whenever they had stress to resolve, and in recent generations, Yggdra's family had opened it to those townspeople who could pay a suitable fee. Yggdra was already planning to make it completely free once the Kingdom was done making war reparations and no longer had a need to pinch pennies.

The former members of the Royal Army tended to frequent this place more than most.

So it didn't come as any real surprise when Roswell joined Kylier and Yggdra in the hall leading down to the springs—particularly because his wounds were still recovering, and healers were known to recommend any therapeutic means necessary to calm their patients and speed the natural healing process of their bodies.

What _was _surprising was that he was here alone.

"No Nessiah?" Kylier asked, raising her eyebrows. "Thought he said he'd be with you today…?"

Roswell shook his head and smiled. "He was—when I suggested the baths, though, he made himself scarce. This time of day, there's a chance someone else would be here, after all…"

"Ah. Yeah, I see your point."

"…?" Yggdra tilted her head to the side, clearly confused.

"Ness is… kinda paranoid about his back," Kylier explained, making a face as she wondered how to phrase it.

"…'Paranoid'…?" Yggdra repeated, frowning.

"Ah… well, you being his ministra and all like we are, it should be okay to say." Kylier shrugged and looked at Roswell. "You got a way to put it delicately? 'Cause I can't really think of one."

"Yggdra…" Roswell gave her a grave look. "You know well that fallen angels lose their wings as part of the process of their exile, or sundering, as Nessiah tells us it's called. They're not… amputated cleanly." He hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, there really isn't any way to put it delicately. Nor should it be. Nessiah's wings were torn off when he was convicted, and the wounds weren't treated."

"Meaning he's got big-ass scars all over his back," Kylier finished for him. "Added to the fact that it's not a nice memory, Ness… thinks he's ugly because of them. And when people who aren't used to them see them, they either stare or try really hard not to stare. Centuries of that kinda reaction have gotten him a little self-conscious."

"That's…" Yggdra had stopped walking, and was standing still with her hands clenched at her chest and a horrified look on her face. "But, that's…"

"It doesn't bother him so much when it's me or Ros here 'cause we've been in his head and we more or less watched it happen," Kylier went on. "But the general population hasn't, so you'll understand if Ness has issues about getting naked in front of _them."_

Yggdra just shook her head numbly. "But, that's…" She looked down at her hands. "That's…"

"It's how he feels, Yggdra," Roswell told her gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Even if it's difficult to understand it, we have to try to respect it. Come on, now. I'm sure you have things lined up to do after this, and at any rate, we shouldn't be having this conversation in the middle of the hall where anyone can listen in."

Yggdra hesitated, then nodded, and the three of them walked back down the hall to the two separate doors leading to the men's and women's changing rooms. She was silent while Kylier busied herself selecting a basket and setting her clothes into it after peeling them off, then as the griffon trainer soaked a cloth, wetted it with the water in a nearby pitcher, and gave herself a quick scrub to clean off any dirt she didn't want going into the springs.

At last, she turned to face Kylier and spoke. "…So… I take what you said earlier to mean that Nessiah… that you've…?"

"Seen him naked, yeah," Kylier said easily, amused. "It's no big deal; we've taken baths together and stuff, and there's balm he's supposed to treat his scars with that I have to help him with. I mean, he can't reach around, really. It's seriously not a problem. Once you've been in somebody's head and basically experienced all the highs and lows of their life through their eyes, it'd be stupid to get squeaky about taking off your clothes in front of them. That aside, Nessiah's not interested in girls, so even if he hadn't been in my head it wouldn't be all that weird."

"…?" Yggdra had a look on that said she was clearly struggling to wrap her mind around it all. "What do you mean by… 'not interested in…'?"

"Ah…" Kylier laughed and shrugged. "Never mind, I think I've overloaded your brain enough for one day. C'mon, the baths are waiting."

And it wasn't just the baths, she noticed as she and Yggdra headed out the door and approached the edge of the spring. They had company—Zilva and Elena were sitting side by side, leaning against the wooden divider between the men's and women's halves of the spring.

"Ah—hello!" Yggdra smiled and dipped her head to the two assassins as she lowered herself into the water; Kylier gave them a wave as she plunked down beside her friend and stretched out with a sigh. "It's unusual to see you two down here at this time of day…"

"Majesty," Elena said, bowing where she sat. She'd pulled her shiny blue hair back in a clip to keep it from getting too wet, so it was even more obvious than usual when her pale cheeks flamed slightly. "Zilva-sama and I just finished our daily training… we decided to come here to get clean before returning to our duties."

Zilva didn't say anything, but that wasn't unusual for her. Considering how little interest she had in social trivialities, Kylier supposed that she and Yggdra should be gratified that the assassin had so much as opened her eyes to give them a cursory glance before going back to ignoring them completely. There was a time that would've bothered her, but after having worked with what was left of the Imperial Army after the war, she'd gotten used to Zilva by now.

Kylier sighed and stretched, leaning back and letting the ease of the hot water seep into her skin. _"God, _that's good. Maybe I don't have an excuse to come in here like you guys, but I don't care if I haven't earned the bath or whatever. I _like _watching worry go winging its way on out the window."

Beside her, Yggdra giggled, and Elena covered one of her own. And maybe Kylier was imagining it, but she thought she saw the corner of Zilva's lips twitch for a moment.

Even as she shook her head and told herself not to push it, Elena stood.

"If all of you will excuse me… actually, there's something I need to see to for a moment. I'd forgotten… Zilva-sama and I were preparing some scrolls that must be time-sealed; I should go do that now so their power doesn't diminish."

"Go ahead," Yggdra told her, nodding. "Don't worry about it; it's unlikely we'll be finished here before you return."

Elena bowed to them all individually, then gathered up a towel and picked her way back into the dressing rooms, closing the door behind her with a snap.

"I must admit, I _am _kinda surprised that she's still so formal with everybody, even after everything," Kylier remarked in a low tone. "I'm really starting to see how it bugs Milanor so much…"

Yggdra just shook her head. "After so long… I think maybe this is just the way Elena is."

"…You two."

Both Kylier and Yggdra started at the sound of the low voice, openly staring at Zilva. It was rare for her even to _speak, _let alone try to initiate conversation.

Blatantly ignoring their surprise, Zilva went on. "You've been considering how you're to deal with the threat from Asgard, haven't you?"

"Ah… y-yes, we have…" Yggdra answered, still sounding disconcerted. Kylier didn't blame her. "There… aren't really any easy solutions for a situation like this…"

"You should know, then…" Zilva resettled against the divider, though she didn't close her eyes. "If it should come down to a battle, you must be well aware that His Majesty will fight with you. As that is so, we of the Imperial Army will be behind you when the time comes."

"…………" Yggdra blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly, then smiled. "…Thank you."

"You guys sure do put a lot of store behind Gulcasa, huh?" Kylier remarked with a smile.

Zilva turned that level gaze to her. "…All of us could sense it, from the moment we first met His Majesty… he is our freedom, and our hope. The people of Bronquia will always protect that hope, no matter the cost."

Kylier nodded. "Alright. Works for me, anyway. …Guess that's something most good leaders have in common, huh? There's just something about 'em. Sure is about you, anyway," she added, elbowing Yggdra.

Yggdra blushed and didn't reply.

The three of them settled into comfortable silence, waiting for Elena to return—Zilva's talkative streak seemed to be used up for the day, and Yggdra had apparently been flattered well into silence. It wasn't as though the little queen had any shortage of stuff to think about, either. And Kylier—well, she didn't have as much of a problem with lengthy silences now as she used to. Being friends with Nessiah kind of did that to you.

Still, when she felt the change in the air and the slight oily texture against her skin, she couldn't just stay silent. Wrinkling her nose, she sat up, then stood.

"…Did somebody put soap or cream or something in the water? It's getting kinda slimy all of a sudden, and—"

The cry from the men's side of the baths cut her off, and had Yggdra and Zilva splashing to their feet, as well.

"That was Roswell's voice!" Yggdra said softly, her eyes round with worry. "What could have happened?"

"…I don't like the feel of this," Kylier hissed back. "You better stay behind me, just in case something's going on…"

Zilva just narrowed her eyes and sank slowly into a battle stance.

But before any of them could do anything more, the earth opened beneath them and the waters of the spring rose high… and darkness fell.

--

Gulcasa was on his way to the stables, heading to pick up Bella for her daily exercise, when he felt the texture of the air change subtly. Not sure what to expect—after all, he'd been fighting everything from angels to demons to stupid humans lately—he tensed, then struck out with a bunched fist as a blur moved in his peripheral vision.

And jumped back with a rather undignified yell when it sank into something not quite solid.

Something—something dark, something squishy—moved in the shadow of the wall with a liquid noise that sounded vaguely like laughter.

Gulcasa drew his pactio card.

"Adea—"

And everything went black.

--

Nessiah was sitting back at his desk, examining the pendant he'd made for Gulcasa and wondering how to give it to his friend, when he sensed the strange twist of magic and sat bolt upright.

It was distinctly not of this plane—not demonic, but also not purely angelic either. It was also strongest in the wide hall leading to the rooms where the Royal horses—and Gulcasa and his bodyguards' dragons—were stabled.

That was all it took for common sense and the need to stay back and analyze to fly out the window. Nessiah grabbed the Revelation, magically locked the door to his workrooms, and ran towards where he'd sensed the suspicious power, ignoring people who gave him strange looks and the stitch that streaked up the side of his ribs and into his chest.

When, panting and shaking, he arrived, he saw an empty hallway… empty but for the residual tang of magic, and—

—_and Gulcasa's copy of his pactio card lying on the floor._

In slow, tentative movements, Nessiah walked towards it and picked it up with shaking hands. Gulcasa knew the importance of keeping this with him at all times. He was _responsible. _There was no way he could've just left it here; something had to have happened…

He'd barely finished the thought when there was an ear-piercing shriek from one of the adjacent halls—the one, Nessiah realized with a sudden chill as he ran towards it, which led to the public springs.

Something had _definitely _happened here. The hinges to the doors of both changing rooms were broken, the doors themselves swinging at mad angles. As Nessiah stared at them, the one to the men's room fell to the floor with a crash; clenching his fists, he picked his way over it and through.

The baskets and towels had fallen—the one with Roswell's clothes had scattered its contents across the tiled floor, but there were no other articles of clothing around. Had he been alone? Worry and guilt clenched Nessiah's chest; he had to wonder if this would have happened if he'd just been able to get over himself and go with Roswell earlier.

The springs themselves were in ruins. Most of the water seemed to have evaporated, and the stone basin of the water was scarred and cratered. The wooden divider was shredded, and its planks floated in what water remained, bumping up against the boulders in the springs.

"Nessiah-dono…?"

Nessiah turned—it was Elena. She'd been the one who'd screamed, then. But she hadn't been using the springs—she was fully clothed. And there was no one else in sight.

"What happened here?" he asked breathlessly.

Elena shook her head. "I-I was coming back in, and… the room… something exploded here, and when the steam cleared… e-everyone was…!"

_Roswell…! _Nessiah shook his head. "What do you mean… 'everyone'…? Elena, who else was here when this happened?"

"Kylier-sama, and Zilva-sama… and Her Majesty…!"

_No…_ Nessiah wrapped his arms close around himself and shivered, feeling the cold weight of it deep in his chest. _It can't… we can't have lost like this… she can't have just… so simply, right under all our noses where we thought she would be safe…!_

Light caught at the edge of his simulated sight, and he turned.

There was a glyph on the other side of the springs. His throat catching, Nessiah ran lightly over the shallows to examine it more closely—it was of angelic make, and a few shimmering lines of script in the High Language hung at eye level above it.

_I have taken your Queen._

_If you wish to see her again, come forth and do battle._

Nessiah gritted his teeth. "…They've taken Yggdra and their others as hostages for a challenge… damn it, that they would have the nerve…" He drew and released a short breath, then considered. "They likely have Gulcasa, too… I know he wouldn't just leave his pactio card lying around like that; I'm sure something happened and they got him while he was trying to use it. That's it, then. If they already have everyone with a contract… I've no choice but to go myself, as it says."

_"Wait!"_

Elena was squeezing his shoulder, making his chest start. He hadn't even heard her cross.

"Nessiah-dono, we can't _let _you go alone! It's too dangerous! They could have all kinds of traps there… and what if there's more than one enemy? Please, take me with you!"

"If it's going to be dangerous to me, what chance would you stand?" Nessiah asked bluntly. "Neither you nor any of the others have the level of skill needed for something like this. I can handle myself alone."

_"Please! _If… if something happens to Zilva-sama, and I can't…" Elena protested desperately. Her eyes were huge, and glittering with terror.

_…So this is what it's about…?_ Nessiah considered her for a long moment. "…Alright," he said at last. "If you're to come with me… you'll need a contract yourself, but… it probably wouldn't be wise to try to stop you. Even if I went without you, you'd just follow after me, wouldn't you?" _I know just how much power love holds… trying to fight that would be beyond foolish._

Elena blinked and stepped back. "But… you've always been… concerned, even when His Majesty wanted a contract… at least that's what Zilva-sama told me…"

"Gulcasa is… impetuous. The others, too. Kylier… I can trust her because I know her, but… they all have a lack of self-preservation and although they've fought in serious battles in the war, they lack a… oh, a professionalism about what they do. You have training, you know how to handle yourself, and more to the point, you're Zilva's protégée. You know better than to risk yourself needlessly.

"Now—if you'll consent, because of the circumstances? We can't waste any more time."

Elena nodded, resolve in her eyes. "Nessiah-dono… every one of us with loyalty to His Majesty knows this: He cares for you, and depends on you. That makes protecting you one of our highest priorities. If I can be of any use… of course I'll consent to a contract."

Nessiah nodded, and generated the magic circle. He didn't have time to be flustered—he just reached out, gently took Elena's hand, and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

The magic was sharp, decided, competent. Beneath Elena's mousy exterior was a core of serious and deadly skill, and a willingness to make use of it if the need arose. The power between the two of them wasn't as nebulous as it had been for any of the others, perhaps because of this—Elena was well on her way to mastery of her abilities, and her teaching wasn't in Nessiah's hands. That was just fine. If he'd had to choose any one person out of the Royal and Imperial armies for another pactio, he had to admit he'd probably have chosen Elena anyway.

The chime of the card's appearance reverberated in the wide chamber; Nessiah took it and duplicated it without much more than a cursory glance, handing Elena her copy. "Are you ready?" he asked her.

Elena nodded.

"Then, let's go."

**(tsuzuku)**


	12. Razorsharp Lilies, part 2

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

The memories fell faster than the world faded in, and so as Gulcasa blinked to clear his hazy vision and pushed himself up off the hard ground, he was already growling a steady stream of resentful curses and planning how best to give whoever'd been stupid enough to sneak-attack him a good dose of hell.

What he saw was a contained, circular chamber with an open section in the ceiling and faded reliefs on the walls. There were black and white tiles, like those on a chessboard, across the floor, and one section of the floor dropped away in an odd little pool with clear water and strangely verdant grasses springing up at the edges.

There were—things… translucent blobs of green and blue slime wiggling up ahead of him. They had little dents in what could've been faces that could've been eyes, and were all making those squishy laughing noises he remembered. And in the center of their circle stood a woman—an _angel—_that Gulcasa instantly recognized.

"What the—what the hell's that crazy angel from Heaven's Gate doing here?"

As he got to his hands and knees in a tense crouched stance, she raised her eyebrows insolently and gave him a slow smile.

Here was another one like Rosary—would've been beautiful, or just downright sexy, if she didn't have that kind of _attitude. _She was tall, one of the tallest women Gulcasa had ever seen, and she had long, straight blonde hair and intense amber eyes. Her figure was amazing—full chest and hips, narrow waist, compact muscles along her arms and legs that said she was a trained fighter, broad wings the same color as her eyes. But she was arrogant and condescending and she had a ridiculous habit of jumping to conclusions—back at Heaven's Gate, she'd gotten one look at the Gran Centurio and decided that Yggdra had come to attack her masters, no matter how Yggdra had tried to convince her otherwise. The stupid woman had nearly killed Roswell, then when Nessiah had come to buy them some time, she'd smacked him around until Gulcasa had lost his temper and gone in too.

Her name, he remembered, was Marietta.

"Gulcasa…!"

That was Yggdra's voice. Stunned, Gulcasa glanced to his right, then jumped backwards reflexively, narrowly avoiding an undignified landing on his ass.

Yggdra and Kylier and Roswell were there—Roswell was kneeling with his legs folded in what looked like a really uncomfortable position, one arm across his lap. Kylier and Yggdra were standing slightly hunched over behind him, doing their best to cover their chests and hips. Further away, Gulcasa could see Zilva suspended in what looked like a large bubble of water, unconscious with her wrists and ankles bound together. Roswell and the girls were dripping wet, and not one of them was wearing a single stitch of clothing.

"Wh-what the—_why the fuck are you all naked?!"_

"'Cause we were all in the baths when the _idiot _over here came and grabbed us," Kylier snapped back, her face several shades darker than usual. "You got a problem with it, take it up with her!"

Knowing his face was bright red and furious that he couldn't do anything about it, Gulcasa stood and glowered at Marietta, throwing up an arm to block Yggdra and Kylier from view. "What the _hell _is going on here, and what do you think you're doing with us, you _perverted _dumbfuck of an angel?!"

Marietta looked down her nose at him from across the room. "Behave yourself, mortal. Those of us in Asgard who care about the safety of the gods have come to the decision that it was time for the next move in our little game. Don't worry—I won't harm any of you _yet. _And no matter what happens here, the magician, the savage, and the assassin will go free when it's over. None of them pose any threat to our peaceful Asgard. I'm having the assassin woman sleep through this because she might be a problem if she decided to resist; that's all."

"You haven't answered me—why did you bring us here?" Gulcasa demanded.

"You and the mortal queen don't have the power to stand against us—capturing you would always be an easy matter," Marietta said coldly. "That bastard traitor that seems to be defending you, though… if we were to do battle on his terms, he could prove to be a threat. So we've decided to draw him out by using you as a prize of sorts in our little challenge." She smiled, and it made her beauty cruel. "He'll be imprisoned properly this time, and you and the girl will die. And our peace will continue to thrive for all of eternity."

Gulcasa narrowed his eyes, then stripped off his shirt and held it to the side. "…Yggdra, put this on. It may not be much, but it's the best I can do right now."

"A-alright…" As he stared pointedly at the other side of the room, small hands removed the shirt from his grip, and he heard fabric rustling. "B-but, what are you going to…?"

When he risked a glance, he saw to his relief that Yggdra had put the shirt on. His first thought was that he'd never fully appreciated their height difference until now—he was an entire foot taller than her, meaning that the shirt that only came down to his waist covered her to the tops of her thighs. It did gape a bit at the top, barely covering her breasts, but—well, the point was that it was sufficient to protect her modesty, and anyway Gulcasa was a strong enough man to keep his mind on the task at hand instead of having his attention drawn inexorably towards her cleavage.

God, he hoped so, anyway.

"…Just stay with Kylier and Roswell for now. They can protect you if anything happens. I'll take care of this, don't worry."

"…Gulcasa…"

Marietta just laughed spitefully. "You fool! What do you think you're going to do to me without a weapon?"

In response, he slipped his hand into his back pocket—and felt his chest lurch unpleasantly as he realized that his pactio card was gone.

_Of course! _He gritted his teeth, calling himself about seventy different kinds of idiot. _I tried to use it when I was attacked—I must have dropped it, and it's been left behind at the castle…_

"Who ever said I needed one?" he said aloud, defiant.

But as he sank into a preparatory stance and bunched both fists, something lukewarm and slimy snapped around his arms and he was yanked up with a yell.

The slime-things—he hadn't been watching them, he realized, calling himself seventy _more _kinds of idiot. Two of them had snuck up onto the ceiling and were now suspending him from it, with the toes of his boots just brushing the ground so that he couldn't kick off it _or _just swing in their grip to do some damage anyway.

"Veniant spiritus glaciales obscurants, cum obscurationi flet tempestas nivali—"

But before Roswell could finish his incantation, Marietta flicked magic at him, a burst of static that hit him full-on. He let out a short cry and fell sideways, shaking from the aftershocks.

"Roswell…!" Both Yggdra and Kylier knelt, hovering over him anxiously.

"He's in no serious danger, but he won't be interfering again," Marietta said coldly. "Behave, or must I imprison the rest of you the way I've done with _her?" _She gestured at Zilva with the staff she carried.

"Son of a bitch," Gulcasa growled under his breath, glaring at her furiously from where he hung. _Damn it, we're useless… I guess it's all up to you now, Nessiah…!_

--

The first thing Nessiah realized as he and Elena entered the room on the other side of the glyph was that they were no longer on the mortal plane. This wasn't Asgard, but it wasn't Midgard either, and it didn't feel like Heaven's Gate. So where were they? One of the dimensional pockets within the floating islands and Yggdrasil that the angels used for everything from training centers to circuit backup systems to storage rooms?

It didn't really matter—everything was immaterial compared to Gulcasa's safety, and Yggdra's and Kylier's and Roswell's, and Zilva's.

They were in some kind of corridor, white marble with polished checkered floors and soft lights that burned magic power set into the ceiling to illuminate it. Behind them, there was only a solid wall; there was nowhere to go but forward.

"What… is this place?" Elena asked in a hushed voice.

"…I'm not sure…" Nessiah shook his head. "The only thing I know for certain is that the others are ahead. It's faint, but I can sense at least Roswell and Kylier… their presence is vague, but it's there. I'm sure that they were at least taken this way…"

Slowly, he began to venture forward. This place was probably some kind of maze, designed to waste his and Elena's time so that whoever was behind this could have longer to do what they wanted with Gulcasa and the others. Just the thought sent a chill through Nessiah's body, and he quickened his pace.

"Ah—Nessiah-dono, wait!" Elena shouted suddenly.

Nessiah took one more step, looking back at her as he rested his weight forward on that foot. "…Is something wrong, Ele—"

There was an audible click from the floor.

"What just—"

But before Nessiah could finish his sentence, he was struck full in the back and propelled forward with arms tight around his waist, sent sprawling across the floor. He managed to struggle up into a sitting position with half a mind to demand what in the hell Elena was doing when he saw cleverly hidden slots in the walls and ceiling open up, sending a stream of arrows spewing out.

Shaken to the core, he just sat and stared as Elena glanced back at the arrow-strewn portion of the hall, then at him.

"Nessiah-dono, are you alright?" she asked softly, her violet eyes wide with concern.

"I—I—ah, yes… what _happened?" _he managed weakly.

"It was booby-trapped," Elena told him gently, with obvious patience for his state of shock. "The trap was likely set off when you stepped on that switch in the floor… there was no way you could've noticed it; I'm amazed I managed to, even with all the training I've gone through. From now on, we should probably watch for minor inconsistencies in the walls and floor, so nothing like this happens again…"

"I-I… alright," Nessiah agreed faintly, and accepted her arm up when she stood. With Elena now beside him, he continued on at a more cautious pace.

They'd been walking for about a few minutes, and had just turned a bend in the passage to the right, when Elena stiffened and put her hand on the back of Nessiah's head, pushing him down hard with a cry of "Look out!" as she sank into a crouch.

He barely had the chance to protest before something long and pointed shot from one side of the wall into the other only a few inches over their heads.

"There wasn't any kind of switch…" he protested faintly as Elena sank to her hands and knees and scrutinized the walls.

"It must be some kind of magic that detects motion or sound," she said softly. "Nessiah-dono, there are shafts for the spears to come out for quite a ways yet… we're going to have to crawl to make it."

Nessiah just gave her a groan and a pitiful stare, sweeping his arm out to demonstrate the raucous clatter of his chains on the marble.

Elena didn't seem irritated by his unspoken complaint; she just reached out and lightly laid her hand on his. "I know it's going to be difficult and painful for you here, but it will all be alright," she told him with a smile. "I'll be with you the whole way."

Nessiah couldn't fathom why those words made his heart ache and then ease in a strange kind of warmth, or why they made him want to trust in and lean on her a little more. He just knew that they did. As Elena inched forward in a catlike crawl, he did his best to follow, keeping his head down as cruel shafts of wood and metal zinged over him every few moments of the journey.

At last, Elena sat up and smiled. "We made it—we're finally past the spears. Thank goodness…"

Starting to ache all over, Nessiah followed suit with a sigh. "…Gods, whose idiot idea was it to throw us into the middle of a training maze?"

"Then you know what this place is now, Nessiah-dono?" Elena asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

"I think so—I've never seen one, but I'm fairly sure this is what it is… I can't think what else it _could _be. In order to train the most elite soldiers, the guards for Heaven's Gate, and the top ranks of Servants, small dimensional spaces have been carved out of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. These places are dangerous, and if angels don't go through them with supervision, they could easily be killed their first time through… that's why only the best are allowed in here." Nessiah rested back against the wall with a low moan. "What surprises me is how well you've coped with everything here… perhaps you don't have the magic or physical strength, but your technical skill far exceeds that of Asgard's best. I know Zilva's reputation for excellence, and even _I'm _impressed."

Elena flushed prettily and ducked her head. "I-I don't know about that, but… um, thank you, Nessiah-dono. N-now, shouldn't we keep going? Everyone's waiting…"

She was flattered, and embarrassed on top of it. Her honest humility was as cute as it was refreshing, and as he watched Elena stand and took her hand up, Nessiah decided he could understand why the ever-so-self-contained Zilva was stuck on this unassuming young girl.

Someone with this level of skill, and a heart that bled to match it—since Zilva had rode on her to make sure that her sense of mercy aided her ability rather than hampering it, Nessiah also knew that Elena could put the fear of the gods in the world if she came into her own.

Thankfully, there were no more traps along that part of the corridor. A little warily, Nessiah followed Elena as she turned the next corner.

There was a sharp sliding sound, and before Nessiah could so much as blink, a part of the floor had retracted. Elena leaped reflexively backwards, but he was too slow to react, and was plunged into a deep pit of water—luckily, Elena grabbed hold of him and dragged him out before he'd been able to fall any further than his waist.

"Are you alright?" Elena asked worriedly as Nessiah curled up and shivered.

"There's a _reason _I never wanted to join the damn guard groups," he snapped—the words came out in an undignified half-wail. The water had been _freezing—_the kind of frigid that made a man's balls want to crawl up past his navel. "There's got to be some kind of _serious _brain impairment in anybody who godsdamned _does!"_

Carefully, Elena approached the edge of the water. "…This doesn't look like it could be any more than ten feet deep," she remarked. "…I don't understand; this kind of trap could be easily escaped, when everything else here could at least wound…"

"Most angels," Nessiah told her through gritted teeth, "can't swim." With an effort, he uncurled and began to wring water out of his soaked robes. "Wet wings weigh you down, and even if I tried to learn now, these damn chains make it impossible to float. If we're dumped in water with no warning, we're dead."

Elena shivered. "This is so dangerous…" she whispered. "It's inhumane. Zilva-sama was hard on me in training, but she never purposely risked my life… why would anyone want to go through this…?"

"Honor, tradition, over-inflated ego, stupidity," Nessiah said flatly. "It so happens I know that honor doesn't require muscles and titles, I'm an orphan, I'm aware there are things I can't do, and I'm not an idiot. We should move on."

Elena nodded, then bent her knees lightly and swung her arms back and forth a few times before springing over the wide gap in the floor. She stood carefully on the other side, holding her arms out. "Try to jump, Nessiah-dono—I'll catch you…"

"No need," he told her, standing and slipping his sandals off. Concentrating and trying to ignore the vicious chills running over his body, he carefully picked his way across the water's surface.

After so much competence on Elena's part and incompetence on his own, it made Nessiah smile to see the way she stared at him openmouthed.

"Ne-Nessiah-dono… you… you can _walk on water?"_

"Angel," he reminded her, struggling not to laugh. "…At least there's _one _thing I can do better than you."

Elena flushed and giggled, and readily turned with him towards the rest of the new hallway.

"…Oh, for the love of…" Any feelings of reassurance or superiority that might have taken hold after their last exchange quickly drained, and Nessiah sank weakly to his knees with a moan. _"Why? _Was all of this not sadistic enough already? Or is the _point _of this just for us to die before we reach the others, or get there with several serious injuries?"

Elena didn't answer. She was too busy staring.

There was an intricate webbing of red beams of light across the next wide stretch of floor, with a few of the narrow slices of ruby slanting from the ceiling to the floor.

"Nessiah-dono, what _are…?"_

"Trip lasers," he replied, defeated. "If we so much as hit _one… _there'll be some type of security measure or trap from more arrows to energy beams to deployed sentinels or Cefiro sent after us… Elena, I can't do this…"

"So, then—these are similar to tripwires?" Elena asked, pointing.

"In theory, yes. Harder to tell once you've hit them, but…"

"Then…" Glancing up at her, Nessiah saw that resolve had settled over Elena's face. "It'll all be alright, Nessiah-dono. Give me your hand…"

There wasn't any reason to refuse, and besides—she'd gotten him this far. Resignedly, Nessiah reached up and placed his hand in her palm. Gently, Elena pulled him into a standing position, then swiftly swept him off his feet and into her arms and leaped forward.

The only protest he was able to make was a faint and rather undignified squeak. Elena had pushed off quickly and at an angle, so that she was able to lightly rebound off one laserless section of wall to the next, then to another, making her way towards the safe section of floor up ahead. Her movements were efficient and effortless, and she didn't seem to be struggling with Nessiah's weight at all, despite that there were only a few inches' difference in their heights and he was sure he was heavier than her.

At last, she touched down perhaps a little more heavily than she ordinarily would, and gently let Nessiah down, giving him a reassuring smile.

"There—that was nothing to worry about, you see?"

He just shook his head at her, wondering if he'd ever seen her like before. But before he was able to decide how best to vocalize how impressed he was, the magic lights above them began to pulse red in time with a loud and jarring alarm.

_"Intruders detected. Dispatching sentries."_

In one motion, both Nessiah and Elena took a step back from the web of thin beams.

"But why?" Elena breathed. "I'm sure I didn't hit any…"

"Either there's a recognition program for this maze and it's been searching the database all this time, or… this may be a part of the course… I'm not sure. I don't think it matters. They're coming…"

Abruptly, the lasers blinked off and there was a rumble as the trapped floor that had preceded it closed, and a few hovering machines similar to those Nessiah and Kylier had fought in the prison drifted around the corner.

Elena didn't waste time with exclamations of fear or wonder—she just loaded a few crossbow bolts and shot each of the first three crafts through its lens, sending crackles of electricity pulsing over them. They wavered and wobbled and careened into each other, crashing to the marble tile; as Elena reloaded, eyeing the corridor warily, Nessiah held out his left hand and waited for the next few to appear.

"Undetriginta spiritus fulguraris, coeuntes sagittent inimicum… Sagitta Magica, series fulguraris!"

Thin bolts of lightning shot from his palm, speeding down the hall towards the new mechanical sentries. Nessiah didn't wait to see if they hit; he turned to Elena and shook his head.

"It's no use staying here—they'll just keep sending more out until we're tapped and can't fight back! We have to run for the end, now!"

"I understand!" Elena hitched her crossbow back in place on the back of her belt and turned around, pulling low to the ground in a tucked-in, energy-conserving dash that Nessiah couldn't help but envy. As it was, all he could do was chase after her at a much slower pace, struggling against the weight of his chains—and the fact that robes were never made for running marathons.

He could hear the hum of the mechanized sentries behind him—first faint, then growing consistently louder. He didn't dare turn around—he knew it'd slow him down, and that if he slowed he wouldn't be able to keep pushing forward. Maybe he flew the best of most angels he'd known—he'd still never been a runner, and even after all this time there was _still _recovering he had to do from his resurrection and battle at Heaven's Gate.

Up ahead of him, Elena whirled around, arming her crossbow mid-sprint and sending a fury of arrows back over her shoulder. Nessiah was too tired to start, and even if he'd had the energy, he knew he could trust Elena to hit what she aimed for and nothing else.

Even as he heard the crash of machines flying into each other and hitting the ground, Elena was slowing slightly, holding out her hand to him.

"Nessiah-dono, come on!" she called. "I'll help you!"

Straining, he reached; Elena clasped his wrist and pulled him close to her, flipping him back into her arms again and putting on a burst of speed. Listening to the mechanical hum behind them recede, Nessiah just set his forehead to her shoulder and tried to steady his breathing.

It seemed only a few heartbeats later when he heard Elena saying, "Nessiah-dono, look! I think we've made it!" and her headlong dash slowed to a walk. She let him down gently, steadied him when he stumbled, and followed placidly as he veered towards the nearest wall and leaned against it, still panting a little.

The corridor had come to a dead end, just as she said. And a bright blue-green glyph, almost the perfect image of the one they'd taken here, lay on the checkered tile and shimmered invitingly. One bright line of script in the High Language hovered at eye level above it, and Nessiah straightened up to read it.

_"The stage awaits," _he murmured. "…Well… whoever's behind this will be disappointed that they haven't achieved their first aim… you're something, Elena, you really are…"

"Oh, I don't know…" Elena demurred. "You would've been able to make it through here on your own, surely…"

"Never in another thousand years," Nessiah said flatly. "I'm just not built for acrobatics like that. And I don't have that endurance… I could not have done this without you. It was a red-letter day for the Royal Army when you sought out their help to deal with Leon, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He shuddered, took a few more deep breaths. "We'd better go, before anything else happens here…"

Pink-faced all the way to her ears, Elena nodded silently, and she followed as Nessiah stood and made his way to stand at the center of the glyph.

--

"You're late," a familiar voice asserted as the magic flashed and illuminated a wide circular confrontation chamber.

Nessiah curled his lip and glared across the chamber at the angel Marietta. "…I was never informed there was a time limit; so sorry to keep you waiting."

The tall archangel crossed her arms and lifted her chin a little—probably so as to better look down her nose at him, Nessiah decided—and raised an eyebrow. "Who asked you to bring a guest?" she demanded, flipping a wing in Elena's direction.

Nessiah put his hands on his hips. "Perhaps the next time you want to play games with us, you'll be so kind as to leave us a copy of the rulebook," he retorted snidely. "Now. Before we get any further here, may I at least have some assurance that you haven't harmed your _hostages?"_

Marietta uncrossed her arms and gestured vaguely to Nessiah's right. "Assure yourself all you like. It won't help you win."

_"Ness!"_

His heart leapt at the sound of Kylier's voice, and he turned to see two wide bubbles of some kind of viscous liquid or gel near the wall there. Zilva was suspended in the smaller of the two, folded over in a fetal position with her arms apparently tied behind her back, her eyes closed tightly. The larger held three people—Yggdra stood to the fore, pounding her fists against the bubble's wall, which rippled but didn't break. She was red-faced and wearing what looked like one of Gulcasa's shirts, and nothing else. Kylier was kneeling a little behind the young queen, one arm across her chest and her free hand on Roswell's shoulder. He lay sprawled on his side, apparently unconscious and beautiful even in helplessness.

Both of them—and Zilva, as well—were completely naked.

Nessiah blushed and looked away quickly. _I-I'm sure I shouldn't have expected anything else, considering that they were all supposed to be in the public baths when they were captured, but… _"Have any of you been injured?" he called, trying to block the image of Roswell from his mind—this was no time for getting excited over his lover's blatant lack of clothing; lives were at stake.

"Yggdra and me are okay, and Jackassette McSlutty over there says Zilva's just knocked out… I dunno about Roswell, though. He tried to fight back, and she flicked magic at him—now he won't wake up. He's still breathing and everything, but…"

Nessiah allowed himself a few seconds to quake with relief. "That's fine, then. If he's still alive, odds are that whatever's wrong, Flone can fix it. Just keep watching him—it's good to know that _this thing _has enough honor to make sure you're all alright."

"That depends entirely on your definition of 'alright'. Myself, I have difficulty finding anything _alright _with being tied up and designated the fucking damsel in distress, thanks."

Nessiah straightened up and whirled towards the other side of the room, hope rising in his chest at the sound of the voice. "Gulcasa…?"

He was directly opposite Yggdra's bubble, and he didn't seem injured—he looked pissed-off if anything. Tendrils and filaments of the same viscous gel-goo that imprisoned the others spun from splashes of slime on the wall behind him and ceiling above him into tentacle-like coils that wrapped around both his arms from his wrists to just below his shoulders. The material was apparently much stronger than it looked; Gulcasa was held about an inch or so off the floor, and far enough from the wall that he couldn't swing back and push off it to attempt to free himself. Apparently, he'd still tried anyway—his long hair was disheveled from struggling, and there was the faint sheen of a long exertion's sweat on his skin; his chest was heaving. Nessiah found it difficult to miss that fact, as apparently he'd volunteered his shirt to Yggdra sometime before he and Elena had arrived.

Gulcasa's half-dressed state _also _drew Nessiah's attention to the fact that he'd messed up what he was still wearing while fighting his captivity. His already low-slung pants now hung a good inch or two further down on his hips than usual. And the way Gulcasa was raggedly, almost _venomously _pulling in air—well, naturally Nessiah's focus slid from his chest down the contours of his tautened muscles to the thin line of dark crimson hair that started a little below Gulcasa's navel to vanish beneath the waistband of his pants.

_Oh, __**shit—**_

Add the frustrated flush crossing Gulcasa's face, the way his brow was drawn moodily down, and the positively _murderous _glint in his eyes, and—

_Good _gods—Nessiah shuddered and tried desperately to stifle the faint sound of primal longing rising in his throat. He was honestly shocked that he was able to work up anything like a passable blush, seeing as most of the blood in his body seemed to have drained to below his waist. _This is so so __**so **__not the time for this, we can waste as much time as we like _later_ fantasizing over how godsdamned fucking _sexy _he—no! We are going to concentrate on the task at hand and not how much we'd like to—argh, SHUT UP, BRAIN!!_

Continuing to argue with his body that there would be plenty of opportunities to daydream about jumping a half-naked Gulcasa once he was done here, Nessiah shook his head and turned towards Elena with an effort.

"If I give you and the others a boost, can I count on you to get them free?" he whispered.

"Yes," Elena breathed.

"Then, on my signal…" he murmured back, then took a step towards Marietta, beginning to undo the straps of the Revelation. "So—aside from Yggdra's survival and presumably my freedom, such as it is, are there any stakes in this sick little game of yours I should know about before we begin?" he asked in a louder tone.

Marietta smirked. "When you lose, your queen and the beast here" she gestured to Gulcasa, who snarled audibly as if daring her to repeat herself "will die. The others—if I'm in a charitable mood, they'll be returned to their world; they're no threat to our peace."

"Hmph…" Rage rushing through his blood at the sheer _gall _of the archangel, Nessiah opened the Revelation with a decisive snap. "Apparently you aren't aware of the fact that I rather dislike losing, then. _Ministrae Nessiah, Elena—Yggdra—Kylier—Gulcasa—sis mea pars per 120 secundas!"_

He actually _heard _the magic crack through the air like lightning, and adrenaline thrilled through him as Marietta's self-assured smirk slipped. Drawing a deep breath, he slammed his palm to the open pages of his spellbook. _"Adeat!"_

The Chains of Conviction _exploded _in a shower of golden glass, and the agony of his wings and eyes reforming was sweetened by a kind of fierce glory at the shock on Marietta's face.

"Veniant spiritus aeriales fulgurientes, cum fulguration glet tempestas austria—_Jovis Tempestas Fulguriens!"_

Nessiah stretched his wings to their full span, and felt the heat behind his eyes—he knew Marietta's capabilities well after their clash at Heaven's Gate and hence knew better than to give her any primary opening. He held out his hands, and lightning roared from them as cutting wind funneled from the undersides of his wings; the wind spiraled around the beam of the bolt as it shot at her.

"Limes Aeriales!" he heard her cry; as he'd expected that, he pushed off the floor and spread his wings wide, catching the updraft of his own attack to send himself airborne. He drew on the Revelation's magic as he did, and several pages detached themselves from the text, trailing light as they began to circle in a lazy halo around him. His timing had been perfect—Marietta relaxed her barrier just as he floated above her, and as the magical shell flashed and vanished, he pulled his right hand back, curling in his ring finger and little finger so his nails rested lightly to his palm and holding his forefinger and middle finger together, folding his thumb parallel to them.

"Κευότητοζ άστράπσατω, δε τεμέτω…" he murmured as sparks began to crawl from his shoulder to his fingers and back.

Marietta glanced up at the sound and realized her mistake, but before she could react, Nessiah swiped his right hand in an arc before him, crying "ΔΙΟΣ ΤΥΚΟΣ!"

The massive bolt of energy he'd conjured connected, hitting Marietta full-on. She fell to one knee with a surprisingly girlish squeal of surprise and dismay; Nessiah flapped his wings sharply and spread them fully to keep aloft as the errant pages of the Revelation returned to their proper places, reaching into his sleeve and drawing a Tactics Card.

"O fallen angel deprived of light and wings, let thy misery cage mine enemy… _Gravity Chaos!"_ Nessiah arced his wings up and pointed with his left hand, holding Aymia's card aloft in his right. Blacklight erupted as he gestured, crackling with electricity; it crashed onto Marietta as she struggled to regain her balance, sending her back to the ground with another little squeak.

Nessiah waited for the smoke and steam to clear, replacing the Tactics Card.

Marietta was struggling for her feet with gritted teeth; she raised her scepter as the burns and cuts she'd sustained under Nessiah's attacks faded and closed over. Still, she was visibly panting, and looked overwhelmed—apparently she hadn't expected this level of resistance from him.

"Sa—" she began, but Nessiah had presumed she'd try something like that and gestured towards her again with a shout of _"Flans ex armatio!"_

Marietta's scepter flew out of her hand, soaring in a perfect arc over both their heads. She followed its path, white-faced with shock and fury, and yelled indignantly as it splashed into one of the little open pools of water in the floor.

She had no choice but to chase after it, and as she did, Nessiah wheeled towards where his partners had been imprisoned. Elena tore past Yggdra and Kylier's bubble, haloed in his magic, and slashed at it, puncturing the ooze and sending it spilling across the tiles before dashing on with a pitched cry of _"Zilva-sama…!"_

Stretching his wings back, Nessiah dropped, touching down gracefully, and ran towards the girls where they stood fighting through the last cascade of pearly-green not-quite-liquid.

"Nessiah, that was _amazing—_how did you—?" Yggdra was panting, carefully holding Gulcasa's shirt down as she ran.

"You _nailed _the bitch!" Kylier cheered, nearly dancing on the spot with glee. "I _knew _you could do it—you _rule!"_

"It's not over yet—here—" Shrugging out of his overrobe, Nessiah handed it to Kylier. "Put this on—you two have to stay on guard, she may have Cefiro allies at the ready like before; do everything in your power to protect Roswell—I'm not going to be able to help you this time—"

"If those slime-things come over here, we'll give 'em what for, don't worry," Kylier assured him as she snapped the clasps of the robe shut from her chest to her hips. "We won't let Roswell get hurt."

_"A little help over here?!" _came Gulcasa's irate voice from the other side of the room; he was still held off the floor by thin bands of slime.

Nessiah whirled to see that Elena was singlemindedly slashing at the bubble that imprisoned Zilva; he doubted she'd heard.

"Gulcasa—cut yourself free, and quickly—_exerceas potentiam!"_

Gulcasa unclenched his left fist as his Artifact appeared; grasping it, he slammed his shoulders forward and bunched his legs close to his chest, his eyes glowing topaz as he shouted, _"Ignis!"_

A halo of flames exploded around the scythe's blade, and the slime around Gulcasa's arms retracted with a squeal as he turned over in midair, slashing after the retreating trails of green goo before he landed catlike on his feet, his long mane of hair flaring up behind him.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Nessiah," Gulcasa called as he straightened up, twirling Flamma Imperia in the air beside him. "We have the situation under control now—just concentrate on your own battle!"

"Yes, _do _that," came Marietta's cold voice from the far side of the room, and Nessiah jumped a little where he stood to see that she was stalking towards him with her staff back in hand albeit dripping wet, with little water droplets all over her arm as well. She raised her arm and began to speak in the High Language, pointing towards Nessiah and his ministrae.

Reacting more by feel than by logic, Nessiah flung both his arms up. _"Deflexio!"_

Mimicking his earlier attack, Marietta rushed in the wake of her spell, already incanting her next: "Undesexaginta spiritus lucis coeuntes sagittent inimicum—Sagitta Magica, series lucis!"

_I have to get her away from Gulcasa and the others somehow—_Nessiah bit his lip and squinted, bunching his fists behind his fading barrier. "Undetriginta spiritus fulguraris coeuntes sagittent inimicum… Sagitta Magica, series fulguraris!"

The thin bolts of light and electricity collided, sending off sparks like fireworks, and Nessiah rose desperately into the air, gathering more power. "Unus fulgor concidens noctem, in mea manu ens inmicum edat!"

Marietta had raised her staff into the air, holding its haft in both hands. "O gatekeeper of the sanctified realm, retribution awaits those who defile thy home…!"

_No…! _It was too late to stop casting, too late to do anything but stay his course. Nessiah gritted his teeth and tried to brace himself for pain, hoping against hope that his spell would be able to divert the worst of Marietta's devastating attack. "Fulguratio Albicans!"

With a mad smile, Marietta swung her staff down. _"Libelio!"_

It was like he'd tried to cast a plank of wood to try to stop a flood, Nessiah realized weakly as his white lightning was completely eclipsed in a wave of divine power. He wasn't aware of much—the world went white, and something like a stone wall slammed into him. There was pain, terrible pain all over his body—as though his every bone had been shattered, as though every tendon and muscle had been torn apart—and then another sensation of impact that he knew was his body hitting the hard tile.

The ceiling came hazily into view, but Nessiah found it impossible to move. The waves of pain kept hitting one after another, and they were crippling; his arms and legs and wings were tingling and pain flickered on and off with a complete lack of sensation that was much more frightening.

"You're still alive…?" Marietta's voice, and the ring of heeled boots on the tile that meant she was walking towards him. "Impressive. I've never known any to survive that spell… Still, you must realize that it's useless to keep resisting. Admit it—you've lost!"

Nessiah gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. "T-tui gratia…"

Marietta's footfalls were growing louder, and the only other sound was the soft and horrified sobbing that was probably Yggdra.

"…gratia Jupiter… gratia sit…" Nessiah coughed and willed the power to come. "Tui gratia Jupiter gratia sit… tui gratia Jupiter gratia sit…!"

A pale white glow cast over his body, and the pain receded just a little. Nessiah shivered and panted, then strained to push himself up.

"Not yet… It's not over… yet…" He coughed again. "Tui gratia Jupiter gratia sit… Cura!"

Soft spheres of gentle light bubbled up around him, touching his minor injuries and burns and closing them. A little more of the pain vanished.

_"Cura?" _Marietta repeated, sounding incredulous. "Is that the best you can manage? How utterly pathetic! A simple spell like that can't hope to save you now!"

Nessiah shivered and kept chanting the incantation. Maybe it was a simple spell, but it was the only healing spell he'd ever been able to manage, and all he needed was a little more time.

"Raimeiken."

With a sound like a thunderclap, something—someone—slammed hard into Marietta's side, sending her staggering several paces back. The someone rebounded and landed lightly about two and a half yards away, hands frozen in a strict jutsu, and Nessiah recognized Zilva—stone-faced as ever, stark naked, and completely unconcerned about her lack of clothing.

"Rage of heaven, one. Rebellion of hell, two. Fires of earth, zero. Elements, take thy mark—Sacred Seal…"

Zilva sank to the floor and placed both palms on the tiles; Marietta leaped up into the air just in time to avoid the surge and jolt as spikes of stone erupted from the ground beneath her.

Gentle hands found Nessiah's shoulder, and he turned in amazement to see Roswell crouched at his side, his eyes half-closed as he murmured words of healing that stifled most of the pain that still shot through his back and wings.

"You'd better not be thinking of trying anything stupid, because if you are, you'll have all of us to deal with, not just Nessiah." Gulcasa stalked to stand in front of the two of them, his still-burning scythe in his hands.

"If you think you'd be of any use to him here—then come at me, all of you," Marietta shot back. "The end result won't change a bit!"

There was a strange shimmering sound, and Nessiah felt the course of magic through the room change. From around Gulcasa's side, he saw Marietta lower her staff and turn as a glyph appeared on the floor just next to her and a man appeared in it.

The man was completely unremarkable in appearance—perhaps because his clothes obscured most of his features. He wore a uniform—a long white coat with a tall collar, faded green pants and thick gray-black boots, heavy leather gloves, and a white cap pulled low over his short blond hair to obscure his eyes. The piping of his coat and hat was red, and there was a small gold pin—some kind of crest or insignia—on his collar; a broad but stubby blade was sheathed at his hip.

Marietta frowned at him. "What is it? I'm in the middle of something…"

"Forgive the interruption," the man said, bowing from the waist, "but there's been an incident in the program, and the master requires your presence. It's an official summons, so don't excuse yourself from it," he added as Marietta opened her mouth as if to protest.

Sighing in aggravation, she shook her long hair back. "…Alright, _alright, _I'm coming." She glared at Nessiah and his company, narrowing her eyes. "Consider this a stay of execution, nothing more." She placed the butt of her staff to the ground, and a glyph shimmered beneath her; she vanished in a soft shower of light.

The man who'd appeared to call her away stood for a moment staring, then smirked at Nessiah and touched his gloved hand to the brim of his cap as if to tip it before he left as well.

"What… was all that about?" Gulcasa wondered aloud, putting out Flamma Imperia.

"That man…" Nessiah murmured, shaking his head. "I think… I'm fairly sure that was a Servant. A Servant of Goth," he elaborated as everyone turned to him with confused expressions. "They're angels who go through strict training, conditioning, and programming to become… something between bodyguards and attendants to members of the Stratum of Goth, hence the name. They're completely devoted to their masters; they can't be anything else. Most of them undergo control programming installations and voluntarily have their wings amputated as part of proof of that devotion… they're supposed to be dangerous warriors, too. That one had a rank badge… I'm sure he was a captain of some sort… whatever the reason, we should be glad of his interference; I'm not sure how much longer I could've held out."

"At least that's over and done with, though," Kylier said with a sigh. "Now all we need to worry about is getting home…"

"Everyone…" Nessiah groaned slightly and gathered up the Revelation, getting painfully to his feet. "Gather around here; I've more than enough time left for this."

With his companions in a circle around him, Nessiah closed his eyes and visualized the hall leading to the public baths, placing both hands on the open pages of his spellbook. He willed the glyph into being, and kept his eyes closed as the spell took hold.

--

"…Nessiah?"

He sat up in bed, earning a stern look from Flone. "Gulcasa?"

The emperor was standing in the doorframe, the knuckles of one hand resting on the wood as though to knock. "Can I come in?"

Nessiah looked back to Flone pleadingly; she sighed.

"As long as you don't get him riled up, you can stay for a little while, Your Majesty."

Gulcasa walked in, shoving his hands into his pockets. "…You're still not done treating him? How bad _is _it?"

"Not _that _bad—I'm not dead or dying," Nessiah pointed out, then winced as Flone smeared ointment across his palm.

"General Nessiah has suffered considerable magical burns across most of his body. Roswell has helped set most of them repairing themselves, and I've finished the job on the mildest of them, but most will still need a few hours of rest to heal. And you're going to need to keep your hands bandaged for the next two or three days," she lectured, turning to Nessiah as though she expected him to disobey as soon as she left the room. "The damage to them was especially severe, and they'll be permanently scarred unless you leave them _be _until I tell you to take the bandages off."

Nessiah sighed. "Yes, Mother."

Drawing up a chair, Gulcasa reached out and smacked Nessiah in the forehead. "Don't 'yes, Mother' her. And don't act so glib about it, either—that spell would've killed a normal person instantly, and it really hurt you. Stop being such an idiot and do what she says."

Nessiah made a face at him. "It so happens I've no problem with taking the healer's orders, thanks. I know Flone's right, and I know better than to act recklessly. A few hours of undisturbed rest are just what I need right now." The _undisturbed _part would've been a little sweeter if he'd had a bit more energy and a bit less damage to his hands, but unfortunately—or fortunately, as Flone would probably consider it—he was still too weak and shaky to get it up. He'd have to shelve the sweet memory of Gulcasa shirtless, sweaty, rumpled, and showing off those unbelievably sexy hips for a later date.

Too bad.

"Well, I just came by here to make sure you'll be okay, so if you've got resting to do—" Gulcasa made to get up.

"Wait a minute—open the top drawer; your pactio card's in there. Take it back just in case," Nessiah insisted.

Shrugging one shoulder, Gulcasa opened it, removing his card and sticking it in a back pocket. Something else there seemed to catch his eye, though, because he frowned and reached back in—

—and drew out the bronze-and-ruby pendant Nessiah had made for him, holding it up to the light with his eyebrows raised. "What's this?"

Nessiah jolted visibly, but thankfully Gulcasa was staring at the pendant with too much curiosity to notice. "That—ah—I was…" His voice dropped pathetically to a mumble, and he turned back to watch Flone tying the bandages on his right hand, teasing a few links of his chains with the first two fingers of his left. "…I was… going to give that to you later…"

"Huh? Give it to me?" Gulcasa looked from Nessiah to the pendant and back.

"It's a protective charm. Just—wear it, alright? It'll—help keep you safe… make sure you don't worry Yggdra so much… or me… I don't care if you don't like it, you can wear it under your shirt or something, just keep it on… As a—a favor, or…"

"You made this, didn't you?" Gulcasa interrupted, and Nessiah turned back towards him to see that there was a kind of fascination in his friend's eyes.

"Ah—yes, I did…" _And there it goes again—like godsdamned clockwork, _he thought as he felt his cheeks heat up.

"I'll wear it, then. Not to stop Yggdra or anyone else from worrying—they will anyway—and not because I like it… but for you." He smirked a little. "As a favor."

_And _now _he's doing it on purpose… _Knowing he was blushing like mad—again—Nessiah didn't answer, just wishing that he could be a little less pathetically obvious.

"Alright, now, you've teased him enough," Flone chided, making shooing motions at Gulcasa. "Go on, get—you can pester him all you like later, Your Majesty."

"Tease? I have no idea what you're talking about." Gulcasa said with an eyeroll and a rather devilish grin. "But I'll leave, since it _is _the healer's orders. Nessiah—I'll see you tomorrow."

He got up and walked out.

As Flone shook her head wryly and continued looking over Nessiah's bandages, the angel sighed and rested back against the pillows.

Rest, solitude, and sleep—he was certainly ready for them now. Gods knew they were the only cures for Gulcasa at his most endearingly difficult.

**(tsuzuku)**


	13. close to your bleeding heart

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

_Nessiah was dreaming, and he knew that he was dreaming—but only very vaguely. It stayed in the back of his mind, like a very unimportant fact, that the real "him" was lying curled on his side in bed with the covers half kicked off, sleeping off the blowback of his intense battle with Marietta and the tiring edge of Flone's healing. He didn't really mind it, and preferred to concentrate anyway on the dream itself._

_In the dream—or was it a memory?—he was walking through town a little sleepily with a bag from the bakery over his arm and a book in his other hand, a sweet rye bun in his mouth. He chewed resolutely as he went, savoring the bread but wanting to get at the red bean filling._

_He'd missed this, missed fresh buns from the bakery. The woman working there had teased him a little, but had taken to giving him a free cake or loaf of bread since he'd been there every morning for the past few weeks._

_It was a little bit of a novelty, having fresh food that Celina hadn't brought him. Down at the baths, she and Samael had laughed a little and pointed out that he'd lost weight—Celina had actually grabbed his naked waist and strained her fingers towards each other, seeing if they'd meet. (They hadn't, and Nessiah wasn't surprised—she had fairly small hands despite the fact she was taller than him.) The two of them had then gone on to scold him for not eating properly over the past months, and he'd laughed with them as they'd tweaked his wings and come to the conclusion that it wasn't anything any of them could help._

_Nessiah'd practically forgotten his own name a few times towards the end. He'd lived and breathed nothing more than his craft ever since he'd really gotten going on the Gran Centurio; it had taken so long that he wasn't surprised it was a little awkward sliding back into his usual rhythm now it was finished._

_Finished, he thought to himself happily, finished finished finished. And did a little twirl down the path, tucking his wings close for the dancing steps. And he had no idea what to do with himself now, and it was glorious to stand around feeling hopeless and helpless and pathetic until he just broke out laughing over it. To head down to the baths with Celina and Samael, to actually read the books Minerva told him he'd enjoy, to get trounced at chess and shôgi by Agrïas—to make little trinkets for the others and take short projects, like the scepter he'd given the gods and their Magi as a thank-you for their consideration of him._

_Gods, maybe he'd even have no choice but to straighten up his little house a bit, he realized with a laugh. It'd gotten pretty messy lately, but with the Gran Centurio he'd had ample excuse to avoid cleaning._

_But for now, he'd just put the groceries back and hurry down to meet with the choir. He'd probably wind up being told off by the director—he was happy, and he tended to overproject when he was in a good mood—but he wouldn't mind being teased about trying to blow out the rafters today. He wanted to _sing.

_As he raced back down towards central Asgard—half running, half gliding—he heard a familiar voice call, felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned—_

(in bed, Nessiah shivered a little, frowned and rolled over in a jangle of chains)

_—turned to look up into those chameleon, colorless eyes he'd always found somehow fascinating. If the smile beneath them was tight or strained and didn't quite reach them, it didn't register with him then._

_"Oh! —… how are you? I haven't seen you in a while, I'm sorry… been caught up, I suppose; I'm sorry about that…"_

_"You needn't worry about it," he replied, that deep and lightly sonorous voice even. "Although… I have wanted to speak to you about something important… If you've the time?"_

_Nessiah experienced a moment of indecision—he really _did _want to sing now, but—spending time with a friend, with a man who was like a brother to him, was much more important, wasn't it? So after a brief hesitation, he smiled and said, "Of course…"_

_That easily._

_He'd been snared—sealed his own fate—that easily…_

_And never had he thought to question the mild confusion, or the sense like a premonition at the back of his consciousness that told him something, something about this just wasn't right—_

_When he found himself deep, deep within the island and the nervousness began to surface, a door closed behind him and he found himself pushed painfully against it, his right wrist cuffed in —'s left hand, the nails of —'s right pressing into his skin as those fingers closed around his throat._

_"What are you—?" he began, confused and a little afraid now; those heavy fingers squeezed a little, and the smile that had seemed forced had quickly become a cold sneer._

_"You'll want to be silent now, I promise you." And the words were a naked threat. "Don't you struggle, either, or you _will _be in pain."_

_Nessiah was silent, trembling, and remained carefully still as the hand restraining his right arm dropped to his side and began to gather up the fabric of his robes._

_"…Why…?" he breathed._

_"Because you're in my way," was the cold, mocking reply. "Haven't you learned yet? You should've stayed that way—what makes you think you're worthy of this position? What makes you think you're worthy of love, of comfort, of a man like him? Of being in a lover's bed, of being at the side of someone you care for? You know what you are… you know how tainted you are… you know you'll always have my mark on you… and you'll never be able to escape it, no matter how you run…"_

_"…No…"_

_"Your heart, your soul, and your _body" _that hand closed over him, and the nails bit, making him cry out even where he lay in bed "will always belong to me. I marked you, and if you start climbing to pretensions again—I'll just have to cut you back down to where you belong…"_

_He couldn't fight. He hadn't been able to fight then, and he was too frozen by sick terror to so much as attempt to struggle even now as those hands ripped his clothes, as rough lips made their way down the side of his throat and teeth marked his shoulder, nearly drawing blood. Those hands gripped him, hauled him away from the door and flung him against something hard, something cold—and that cruel voice spoke words of twisted magic, sending cold links of iron snaking over and restraining Nessiah's arms and legs._

_"I think you should know," he went on pitilessly, smiling in cold humor, "that this is going to hurt."_

--

Nessiah jolted awake with a gasp, sobbing breathlessly and trembling. His entire body was slick with sweat, irritating what remained of his burns, but he barely felt it—the room was filled with the heavy and cloying presence of _that person, _and he couldn't breathe.

He didn't think. He just flung himself out of bed and ran—ran to the one place, the _only _place, he still felt safe.

--

Gulcasa opened his eyes, scowled at the canopy of his bed, and sat up.

It was just no damn use. He'd been trying to get to sleep for at least an hour, and for whatever stupid reason he didn't even feel _tired _anymore. It was the middle of the night—he'd been exhausted when he'd made it to his room and known he'd need every second of sleep he could get; just the events of today (or yesterday, by now?) had been enough to impress on him he couldn't take it for granted that nothing too major would happen tomorrow. But the longer he lay still, the more restless he got.

Maybe—he yawned widely and stretched, feeling the joints of his shoulders crack—maybe he should go out and walk off the excess steam, see if he was feeling less restless when he got back. He could check on Nessiah, see how his friend was doing, on the way—set his mind at ease that Nessiah was doing alright. The sheer amount of magical power the fallen angel had whipped out in the battle against Marietta had been astounding. Gulcasa had glanced around to see how things were going every chance he'd gotten while fighting the slime monsters, but even if he'd just gone by ear he'd've been able to tell that much.

And the way Marietta had attacked him—Gulcasa hadn't ever seen that particular Skill used before, but he'd recognized its power level and known that it was strong enough to instantly kill the everyday target. But Nessiah had survived it.

It had come damn close to killing him—and it made something in Gulcasa's chest icy to consider just how close—but he had survived.

Even at Ancardia and on Heaven's Gate, when Gulcasa had heard of how much manipulating Nessiah had done, how much power he supposedly had—he'd had half a mind to demand that Nessiah whip it out and prove it. It had only taken one attack from Milanor when his guard was down, after all…

Nessiah had always needed so much nagging, so much looking after, so much damn _rescuing _that Gulcasa had only half believed it. But what he'd seen today…

And then, only a few hours later—Nessiah had been back to his usual self… torn-up, being _patched _up, shielding the tender spots with prickles like he always did. Vulnerable—a victim.

If Nessiah was so capable of standing up for himself and his compatriots, then why did he always act so, so _damaged? _Like he was carrying invisible wounds and slowly, steadily bleeding to death from them?

And the most annoying part of it was that if Nessiah _was _still damaged—from whatever it was that'd screwed him up so much over the centuries—Gulcasa had no way of judging. Because no matter how hard he tried, Nessiah just wouldn't let him in.

Well. Nessiah hadn't let him in _yet. _Gulcasa didn't exactly intend on giving up trying.

Sighing, Gulcasa stood, lit the lamp on his bedside table, and stretched. All he could do for now was go check on his idiot best friend; if he could stop worrying for long enough to get to _sleep, _he could damn well come up with another way to take a crack at it tomorrow.

Shoving his left hand through his hair, Gulcasa crossed the room in annoyed but tired steps and opened the door.

And nearly landed on his ass when Nessiah flung himself desperately through it and at him.

As it was, Gulcasa staggered backwards a few paces, staring down at his unexpected armful of hysterically sobbing fallen angel. Nessiah was still in the underrobe and thin bandages Gulcasa had last seen him in, all of which were utterly drenched with sweat; Nessiah himself was as chilled as if he'd been out running in a freezing rain, and shaking violently on top of that. He clung to Gulcasa as though to some kind of last lifeline, his face buried in Gulcasa's chest as he cried like a terrified child.

"What… what the hell… Nessa, what is it? What's the matter?"

Nessiah didn't answer—he just held on tighter.

Awkwardly, Gulcasa reached around Nessiah's shoulders to push the door shut, trying to come up with some kind of reason his very self-contained best friend would be so afraid. "Did something happen? Nessa, come on, tell me—did someone or something scare you?" Still no response. Gulcasa laid his hand to Nessiah's back, rubbed tentatively. "Did someone try to hurt you?"

Nessiah flinched, and his trembling worsened. He still didn't speak.

"Tch, this is no good…" With an effort—Nessiah was rigid, and clung tenaciously—Gulcasa managed to hoist his friend into his arms, then deposit him on the bedspread. Set down, Nessiah just reached for Gulcasa again; sighing in resignation, Gulcasa sat. Nessiah gripped his arm and leaned his forehead to Gulcasa's shoulder, his thin frame wracked with heavy sobs.

Nothing seemed to be wrong with him physically—aside from his half-healed wounds and the state of shock he was in. No new scrapes or bruises, no tears to his clothes—obviously no one had harmed or tried to touch him. So what had happened? Knowing there was little chance he'd manage to get it out of Nessiah when he was like this, Gulcasa just rested his free hand on Nessiah's shoulder.

"If you can't talk to me now… then just take it easy. Everything's alright, you see? No one's going to hurt you here; just stay with me tonight, and try to get some sleep."

Nessiah jerked visibly, and pulled closer to Gulcasa in even greater desperation. "No… no, no, no…"

Gulcasa frowned down at him. "…Did you just have a bad dream?" _It figures…_

"Not… just… a dream," Nessiah managed through gritted teeth.

_No… it can't have been any ordinary nightmare, _Gulcasa realized. He'd only seen Nessiah in a state of panic once or twice before, and never had Nessiah been this hysterical. It had to have been more serious than that. Whatever this was… it had really scared him.

"Listen, Nessa…" He couldn't get frustrated just because he was sleep-deprived. Nessiah had come to _him, _come running completely thoughtlessly to _him, _and that meant something—at the very least, that Gulcasa was making progress and Nessiah trusted him enough to depend on him. "It's okay… whatever it is, it can't hurt you now. I'm here. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. I'm here. I'll protect you."

Nessiah shuddered and clung closer.

Gulcasa sighed, running his hand along his friend's damp hair and sweat-sodden underrobe. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Please… don't… make…," Nessiah got out between suddenly more urgent sobs, quivering.

"Alright, alright," Gulcasa said quickly. "If you still can't talk about it, you don't have to now. Just relax. Take it easy."

Nessiah's only response to that was a thin whimper, but Gulcasa's hasty assurances seemed to calm him a little. His violent shaking subsided for the most part, leaving him with only his body's response to his chill keeping him shivering.

"…You know you're going to get sick if we leave you in those clothes," Gulcasa said softly. "Let me get up a minute, and I'll get you something of mine to wear instead?"

Nessiah seemed reluctant to let go of him, but with a bit of coaxing, he sat up on his own, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking a little where he sat. He had an almost deadened look to him—like the survivor of some great and life-altering trauma.

Glancing back at the angel periodically, Gulcasa rifled indecisively through what clean clothes he had. Everything was far too big for Nessiah, of course, but just a shirt would probably do for now…

Picking one up—it was black and sleeveless and just slightly more battered than the one he'd lent Yggdra—Gulcasa returned to the bed, carefully getting Nessiah uncurled. "Can you get undressed by yourself?"

Nessiah didn't answer; when Gulcasa tried placing the shirt in his friend's hands, Nessiah didn't move to take it or do anything with it.

So Gulcasa just shook his head, and carefully unsnapped the front part of Nessiah's faceplate. He expected it, but still had to wince at the way the scars crossing the fallen angel's face were red and swollen, beginning to seep blood. He cast about—he didn't really have any bandages—and ended up just using a corner of the sheet to gently blot the blood away, along with the sweat and tears that had irritated Nessiah's scars in the first place. Nessiah still didn't move; Gulcasa wound up having to carefully undress him, rolling the skirts of his underrobe up and carefully pulling it over his head, as though Nessiah was just some kind of doll.

He was completely naked beneath the thin robe, as usual. Gulcasa just rolled his eyes and shook his head as he tossed the tangle of wet cloth to the floor. "Just what is it you have against underwear, Nessa?" he asked, half-teasing.

Nessiah's lips jerked slightly in what might've been an attempt at a smile.

"…Well, I can't just dress you like this… you're still all sweaty; I wish I had a towel or something…" Since he didn't, Gulcasa grabbed one of the pillows and stripped it of its cover, using the thin sheath of cloth to wipe down Nessiah's back and chest. At least this time Nessiah seemed more responsive; he clumsily pulled at Gulcasa's shirt as his friend tugged it over him, and refastened his faceplate in slow, absent motions while Gulcasa held his hair back. When he was done, he sat still for a moment, then slumped down, resting his face and shoulders across Gulcasa's lap.

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Gulcasa chided. "You couldn't handle this yourself; if I can help calm you down, then I'm glad you came running in here. I couldn't sleep anyway, so it's not a problem. Besides… it makes me happy that you know you're safe with me."

"…" Nessiah shifted a little; one small, shackled hand clenched slightly over the fabric of Gulcasa's pants.

--

There was no way for Gulcasa to keep the time, but he guessed it had to have been at least half an hour to a full hour after Nessiah had finally gone down when there was a soft knock at his door.

Shaking his head and trying—for the fiftieth time—to keep his eyes open, Gulcasa managed "come in" at a reasonable pitch.

The door swung silently open to frame a worried-looking Roswell, barefoot and wearing a button-down white nightshirt over the breeches he'd had on earlier. He was holding a candle, and looked fairly disheveled—from sleep, probably. If it was from something else, Gulcasa just flat-out didn't want to know.

The worry left Roswell's eyes and the tension left his shoulders as his eyes settled on Nessiah, still sprawled across Gulcasa's lap with his side now rising and falling evenly with the slow rhythm of his breathing. As Gulcasa just watched him, sleepy and puzzled, Roswell smiled a little. "…I suppose this is the first place I should have checked."

"…?" Gulcasa just blinked and raised an eyebrow.

"I could… a little while ago, I could feel that Nessiah was frightened and in pain," Roswell explained. "It was strong enough to wake me… I was worried for him, so I've been checking every place I could think he might go. I was going to look with Kylier next… if I'd been thinking, I'd have checked here and her room first. What happened?"

"Nightmare, apparently…" It took effort to suppress the yawn, but Gulcasa managed it. "Couldn't get much more out of him. He was in a bad way, but… he exhausted himself eventually and couldn't stay awake."

It didn't really surprise him that Roswell had been able to tell. Gentle people, whether they had magical powers or not, tended to be very sensitive to changes in the emotional atmosphere—and Roswell was Nessiah's friend and ministel.

"…I see…" Roswell was silent for a moment. "…I expect Kylier will have sensed this, as well… maybe Yggdra and Elena, too—though their bond with him isn't as strong as ours is. Whatever it was, this has really upset him."

If Gulcasa was to take Roswell's assumption at face value, then… maybe it was because of Nessiah's nightmare that he'd been unable to sleep for so long? He didn't think nightmares could last that long without the dreamer waking up, but… maybe it was possible… who knew, maybe it was different for angels anyhow…

Gulcasa caught himself just as he began to slump forward and his eyes started closing, jerking back upright with a scowl. "…dammit."

"You look exhausted; are you sure you should be trying so hard not to nod off?" Roswell remarked as he closed the door.

"Yeah… no… ah, hell." Sighing, Gulcasa scrubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes. "I just don't want him waking up while I'm asleep, 'specially if he has any more stupid dreams or anything…"

"Go to sleep," Roswell advised, smiling. "I'll stay here, and keep watch over Nessiah while you get some rest. How does that sound?"

"…Really? Don't you need to sleep, too?" It sounded excellent, but if it meant Roswell was going to have to sacrifice _his _quiet night, Gulcasa's pride wouldn't let him accept the deal.

"It's alright. I've been asleep since shortly after we got back; Flone felt it was better for us not to take any chances, though I wasn't badly hurt. I don't think I'd be able to get back to sleep, anyway…"

Gulcasa still felt a little like he should argue, but he was just too damn tired. "…fine, then; stay if you want. If he wakes up and he's—just wake me up if he gets up."

Roswell nodded. Carefully, so carefully, Gulcasa eased Nessiah up off his lap, laying his friend out along the far side of the bed. With a groan, he stretched out across his own side, closed his eyes, and was out almost as soon as he'd relaxed into the pillow.

--

For the second time that night, Nessiah awoke with a jolt.

His dreams hadn't been frightening this time, just unsettled—as though something was prodding at the corners of his mind, something he didn't want anywhere near him. He hadn't liked it, and had done his best to pull his way to the surface of the waking world.

He experienced a brief moment of confusion, almost panic, as he realized he wasn't in his room or Roswell's—and that this oversized shirt was definitely not what he'd gone to sleep in. Then he remembered the _last _time he'd awakened—his thoughtless flight to Gulcasa's room—Gulcasa's reassurances. Flushing a little in shame, Nessiah looked around and saw that he was still in Gulcasa's room—in Gulcasa's bed, in fact—and Gulcasa's arm lay protectively over his waist. The young emperor was sprawled next to him, deeply asleep.

Embarrassed but grateful, Nessiah reached out and softly touched Gulcasa's cheek; he didn't stir. Carefully, he began to sit up.

"Take it easy—just lie still for now," a familiar voice suggested. Nessiah started, and wheeled in confusion to see that Roswell sat at his bedside.

"When… did you…?" Nessiah began, hopelessly puzzled; Roswell reached out and hushed him, setting both hands to his shoulders.

"I felt that you were in pain, and I found you here—Gulcasa told me what happened." Roswell said it kindly, and Nessiah realized that Roswell knew him well enough to have a good guess at what his dreams had held. "You seem calmer now—the unbroken sleep's done you well. It's alright now… no one can harm you here."

Nessiah knew perfectly well who Roswell meant by _no one. _The words had the same slight emphasis Nessiah gave the words _that person _while thinking around the edges of—_him._

Still—still, although he wanted to lie still between the two men he loved and trusted more than any others and let their presence reassure him, Nessiah couldn't forget what he'd felt. "Roswell, this—this was more somehow, _more _than just an ordinary dream. I knew I was asleep—not like with the… other times I've dreamed… and it's been memories. And the… the images, the memory… it wasn't right. It started out the same, but… what _that person _said to me… it was different, it was like… like he was talking to me as I am now." It had felt, Nessiah realized now, like some kind of warning…

Roswell looked troubled. "I suppose it's possible that someone—one of our enemies in Asgard, perhaps—could use dreams or memories to try to frighten you… it's a different tactic than what they've tried so far, and a much less honorable one. But the dream's ended, so…"

"…I'm not sure they… whoever they are, I'm not sure they're finished yet." Nessiah rested back against the pillow with a little sigh, staring up at the canopy of the bed. "I've still felt… very strange, trying to sleep now… and I was in no state before to try real wards. I don't think I'm even in much state now…"

Roswell was silent for a while, then he reached in and teased a few strands of Nessiah's hair out of his face. "…How about this, then? The sunrise is still a good few hours away… so why don't I spell you under until then? I'll shield you—Gulcasa too, if you think he might need it—and I'll stay right here with you for as long as I'm needed."

"…………" Edging up a little more, Nessiah reached out and brushed his fingertips along Roswell's cheek. "Whatever good I've done over the course of my life… it was never enough. And whatever good I'll do, before the end… I know I'll never deserve you."

_"Très charmant. _But you can't make me not care about you, _a stór, _so you'd better give up now. Alright? I'm setting the shielding now, and I'll take it down when you're ready to fully wake." Resting Nessiah's hand back along the covers, Roswell reached out and traced runes in light, brushing them over his lover's cheeks and forehead. Nessiah lay still and let Roswell's magic wash over him, cocooning him in a strange sense of safety and near-relaxation.

"If you're going to sleep… shield yourself, too," he said as Roswell rested gentle hands over his forehead.

"I will when I do—but I'm staying up either until Gulcasa wakes or one of the others comes to relieve me," was Roswell's mild reply.

Soft blackness wrapped Nessiah's magical vision, and he sank steadily back beneath the surface of consciousness.

--

Nessiah actually spent very little of that day awake. He remembered flashes of the world, like dreams—Flone, he was sure, had pronounced that he would do best in a sleep of healing as he'd managed to undo his bandages and most of the rest and restoration of the previous day in his panicked flight. He woke once to find Roswell asleep beside him and Kylier in his chair; he remembered Yggdra coming in once—he thought Gulcasa had been in the room then but wasn't sure—with a tray of light food, and knew he'd been persuaded or threatened into eating half of a fruit bun. He didn't remember actually seeing Elena there, but was sure he'd felt her presence in the room nonetheless.

And knowing that his ministrae had closed ranks around him like knights shielding their wounded, he felt protected—almost protected enough to forget the bruising impact of hurtful hands cuffing his wrists, of cold iron rubbing his skin raw, of pain enough to shatter anyone's mind.

Once, caught in the haze between waking and sleeping, he thought he overheard them talking quietly.

"They say there's nothing we can do, but—seeing him like this drives me half mad. I hate just having to sit on my hands and watch him suffering." Gulcasa's voice—and the undertone of growling annoyance beneath it—was unmistakable.

"I understand how you feel… but what _can _we do?" As was Yggdra's; she sounded tired, defeated. "If there was any way I could think to make things better for him, you know I'd be busy with it already… and I hate that I know he's only like this because he's standing between the heavens and me. I've seen the people I care about suffering enough already…"

"Hey, stop that. You've bled more than enough for _us _for us to want to stand between you and the world. And believe me… it'd be better all around if you could stand _with _us instead of _behind _us; I think that would make you feel a lot better too. But you can't, so we just have to take our pills no matter how bitter they are."

"I know." A miserable sigh.

"I… I just wish…" An uncomfortable sigh; Nessiah knew Elena's feathery voice when he heard it. "Don't Your Majesties get the feeling like… Lord Roswell and Kylier know a little more than they're telling us…?"

"Don't even get me _started." _The growl thickened. "They just look at each other like they're not sure if they want to tell us what they know, but apparently because we haven't had our own excursions into Nessiah's head like they have…"

"Well… I'm sure that if it would really make a difference, Roswell and Kylier would break their silence, but… as things are, I'm sure it would only hurt Nessiah more if they spoke about him behind his back…"

"Nessiah-dono… _is _a very private person…" Elena sounded unsure.

"Besides… there's probably a reason he hasn't told us directly; whatever it is that's bothering him may be too painful to share."

"That makes sense to my head, but I can't help but feel as though he doesn't trust us yet, even so. We just want to _help. _What the damn hell is so wrong with that?"

Yggdra and Elena apparently had no answer for that. Neither did Nessiah.

--

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Nessiah was allowed to waken and stay awake.

And the reason why he finally had couldn't be more clear, as he sat up to find himself surrounded by the circle of his ministrae.

The five of them stood around the far edge of the bed, varying levels of disagreeability plain on each of their faces. Elena looked purely unhappy, Yggdra had clasped her hands and a pitiful earnestness shone in her eyes, and Kylier's hands were planted on her hips to match the cheerful obstinacy of her smile.

Roswell stood with his hands behind his back and his expression schooled carefully to blankness, mild hints of reproachful "it's-for-your-own-good" in his eyes. Gulcasa just looked outright sullen; his arms were folded and his eyes slightly narrowed.

"…alright, what's this about?" Nessiah asked with a tired sigh, settling himself against the pillows and trying to brace himself for the impending lecture.

"Flone's found signs of magical tampering in your body while she worked to ease your healing today," Roswell told him. "And I'm certain that someone has been attempting to break through my shielding. What this comes down to is that you seem to be right; someone is attempting to use your past against you, in an effort to shake you and make you less able to help protect Yggdra."

"If that's it, then—" Nessiah gave a little sigh. "Now that I know, I can handle it; none of you need to continue to worry on my behalf. I won't be so lax in my defenses again—"

"Bullshit," Gulcasa interrupted.

Nessiah flinched a little. He knew _that _expression; Gulcasa had apparently worked himself into a good mad while he'd been asleep.

"You can't watch your ass every second of every day completely perfectly," the young emperor went on, his eyes glinting with an obdurate battle light. "The only reason we might not be able to help you is because this is _your _past, _your _head, and _you won't let us in."_

"It doesn't have to be now, but there's going to have to be a heart-to-heart sometime," Kylier said a little warningly. "These guys've been trying to get it out of Roswell and me for a while now, and we keep telling them that it's not for us to say, but they're going to have to know sooner or later."

"But—"

"You're only like this because you're defending me," Yggdra said softly, regretfully. "You're in pain because of me; they're trying to hurt you because of me… I can't stand not trying to do something to help you now…"

"Yggdra…" Gods, did they _have _to make this so hard on him? "This was a personal attack on me, and may not even have anything to do with you. Gods alone know how much reason those in Asgard have to hate me by now… it's my battle, do you understand? All of you… your offer to help me, your _desire _to help me means more to me than I can properly say, but at the same time, I can't…"

"Nessiah-dono… no one's personal battle is his own anymore… not now," Elena ventured.

"The bottom line of this is," Gulcasa said flatly, "that we're your partners, and you're our 'master'. We're already involved with your battles just because of that. Don't try to push us away; you're going to find if you do that we don't push so easily anymore."

"…Gulcasa…"

"He's said it for all of us," Roswell agreed, smiling. "You choose to defend Yggdra because of the promise you made to her, and because she means a lot to you… well, we're choosing to defend you because you mean a great deal to us, as well. If it weren't for you… I would still be miserable, unable to leave my own past behind me, sliding closer and closer to losing my mind completely."

"We _all _have our reasons for wanting to help you," Kylier put in. "And, hey. Roswell and I have seen for ourselves the kind of injustice you've been forced through. We can't just sit back and not do anything about it now that we know, either."

"Trust in us a little," Yggdra pleaded. "You don't have to tell us everything or leave everything in our hands right away, but… please believe us when we say we _have_ to do everything we can for you now."

Nessiah was silent.

"Maybe you don't know how to play well with others anymore, but we'll give you as many refresher courses on the concept of teamwork as you need," Gulcasa said wryly. "To work together, we need to trust each other. _You _need to trust _us _enough to lean on us consciously, and _before _you fall apart—not just after. We can protect you from the kinds of breakdowns it's damn hard to pick up after."

"I…" Nessiah hesitated, wondered a little how he should phrase it. "I… _do _trust you. Please—don't misunderstand or mistake that. It's—hard for me to not want to do things alone. Solitude is—a form of protection I've had to learn. If others don't get close to you, it's harder for them to hurt you."

"We're not—" Gulcasa began. Nessiah held up a hand to silence him.

"I _believe _that none of you want to do me harm, but—old habits are difficult to break, and I… I worry more than I can admit, likely much more than I have cause to. Kylier… and Roswell… I know better than to think either of you would intentionally harm me, and… Gulcasa, Yggdra, Elena… betrayals like that simply aren't in any of your natures.

"I—can try to rely on you all a little more. And—someday… someday, I think I'll be able to tell you everything. It's just—so difficult to even think about for me…

"But you do deserve to know. So… someday, you will. I just—can't—now."

Gulcasa turned towards the others questioningly, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands on his hips, sliding his thumbs through his belt loops. Kylier and Roswell exchanged glances, and both of them nodded; Yggdra even managed to work up a smile.

"…Well, then, I suppose that'll have to do for now," Gulcasa said with a sigh. "Nessiah… just remember that nothing that happens to us from here on out is any one person's problem. We'll all fight this thing together, understand?"

"…Yes," Nessiah replied at length, offering a reluctant smile of his own.

"Good. Then get yourself into some kind of order—Flone says you're allowed out of bed now—and come on downstairs with us; you need food for once."

Victorious—at least to a point—they trailed out of the room.

_Never mind Roswell… I don't know what I did to deserve the care of _any _of you… you're far too good, too kind, to dirty yourselves with any kind of involvement with me._

But it was useless to fight it; Gulcasa, Kylier, Yggdra, Roswell, and Elena had to make their own decisions in life. Nessiah couldn't make theirs for them, whether he wanted to or not.

Besides, he knew when it was pointless to continue his resistance.

Sighing, he slid stiffly out of Gulcasa's bed and began to look for his clothes.

--

As they headed down the hall, Gulcasa caught hold of Kylier's elbow and drew her back, coming to a halt.

"Nessiah's story…" he said softly. "Since you know all the details already… is it worth the wait?" There were a lot of other questions he hoped were conveyed within that one, like _is it really going to help us understand _and _is it half as bad as he makes it out to be, _but he only needed the one answered.

Kylier stared up into his eyes for what seemed like ages, then she pulled a face and tapped her temple with a gloved finger.

"He was rifling through here just before, remember? The pain was—just unspeakable. The sense of violation was worse. Like—like he was raping my mind, my memories. I didn't know it was possible to hate or be afraid of someone that much. But then—"

She sighed, and her eyes drifted past Gulcasa's face to a distant corner of the room; her gaze clouded, as though she was actually focusing on something much further away.

"Then that spell of his went wonky, and I dunno… it was too much to take in all at once, but I saw—_everything." _She spread her arms, let them fall with a slap to her sides. "I felt so sorry, so sick for him. It's bad. Worse than whatever it is you've probably been imagining. I saw, I understood, and it did sweet fuck all to let me keep being mad at him for poking around in _my _brain. Nessiah's—God, he's the most fucked-up individual I've ever met. He's so completely starved for love and trust… if it helps you understand, he wants this really bad, he's just scared to take it.

"Anyway, yeah, it's worth the wait. I have no idea how he'll work himself around to being able to talk about it—I don't think I could. He didn't want me in his head, and he told me that Roswell only saw it by accident. If there's anyone he'd tell because he wanted to—I think it would probably be you, big guy. Roswell and I didn't hate him in the morning, so he'll get there sooner or later that you won't either.

"It's probably hard, but—wait for him. It'll be better for him to open up to you, in the long run anyway. You—mean a lot to him."

Kylier's stare was back on Gulcasa, and it was intense, almost unearthly.

"…I understand," Gulcasa said with a short nod. "I'll wait for him to be ready."

**(tsuzuku)**


	14. the brilliance and the passion

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Mistel glanced out her window and saw the dawn rising pale pink against the mountains, tinting the mist over the vast lake pale gold. Giving her pillows a fluff, she sat up and slid out of bed, drawing the curtains back fully and leaning out a bit to breathe in the sharpness of the early-morning air.

She'd gotten a little on the lazy side over the winter, become a little too used to the peaceful routine that came of only having diplomatic matters to worry over. So once she'd noticed that, Mistel had begun consciously heading to bed a little earlier, rising closer and closer to when the sun did every morning. Maybe the rest of the castle wasn't yet on her schedule, but it gave Mistel the time to properly prepare herself to join the waking world when it was. And it helped to be an early riser when there was never the guarantee that their enemies in the heavens wouldn't strike in the morning.

In brisk steps, Mistel crossed her room and slipped out of her silky nightgown, pulling on her gray hose and changing her breastband. She painstakingly painted a new coat of pale pink lacquer over her nails, then sat on the plushest of the floor rugs to meditate as she waited for them to dry. Banishing worries, mild aches, and sleepiness, she cast her mind out over the lake to dance in what was left of the mist, finding peace there.

If there was any one thing she missed about her mountain home—aside, of course, from the company of her grandfather and her friends—it was that mist. Whenever the seasons changed—winter to spring, spring to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter—heavy white mists settled over the mountain trails. It wasn't sticky and cloying like the fogs down here, but soft and romantic and always stirring the adventurer's spirit within her. She'd taken to rising early as a little girl just so that she could dance in those mists whenever they formed.

Finished with her reminiscence and dry-nailed, Mistel bent backwards and walked her hands out along the rug, arching her body up in the first of a long series of stretches that left her feeling loose and relaxed for hours afterwards. She performed these ritualistic exercises every day—not only because they were calming, but because they were necessary. Armies did their best to attract youths just shy of twenty for a reason—older minds made better strategies, but it took strength and flexibility to actually wade into battles. Fighters in their middling years and onward had to work hard to maintain their bodies, to fight off that natural decline.

Mistel was not quite as strong, as fast, as flexible as she'd been at twenty, and certainly not at seventeen, but by God, she knew she was as strong, fast, flexible, and _intelligent _as a twenty-eight-year-old woman could be.

Finished, she retreated again to her privy, pulling on a deep red gown with sweeping skirts and sliding her feet into sturdy ankle boots with the slightest hint of heels. She ran her hands through the waves and masses of her deep, smoky brown hair, then carefully gathered most of it up and into a tight knob at the nape of her neck, binding it into its usual bun. She carefully touched her lips with soft pink luster, then gathered her crimson shawl around her shoulders.

Mistel couldn't help but smile as she selected her earrings—after discovering that Nessiah continually made sets of studs and tiny earbobs for Kylier, she'd teased him into crafting this pair of splendid ruby drops, offset by the tiniest crystals of rose quartz. They were charmed, he'd said with a smile, to provoke lucky encounters. And left the interpretation of "lucky" completely up to her.

He had a devious mind, that one. It was nothing less than a sheer delight to know him.

Scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror, Mistel did a little twirl for herself, enjoying the way her skirts felt as they swayed. That was really all a girl needed to feel pretty—a dress she liked, and a hint of glitter at her ears or throat.

Presentable now, Mistel headed back into her room, and glanced at her desk. Last night, she'd been writing a letter to her grandfather to inform him of what was going on. All the pertinent details were there—as well as a few remarks on the other happenings around the castle. Perhaps she ought to take it with her, sign and send it after breakfast.

But then—something else of interest might happen today. Shrugging, Mistel decided she'd leave it until the afternoon, when the carriers and messengers stopped accepting the day's mail. There might be time and room for a few more sentences then.

With that settled, Mistel headed out of her chambers and down towards the mess hall, which she judged should be about filled with people by now.

She wasn't disappointed. Tables of food had been set up, and most of the castle denizens were already clumped up and chattering in their accustomed places. Threading through the crowds, Mistel picked up a plate of rice balls and fruit buns, then rose on her toes to look for a place to sit.

There weren't many—the rush for breakfast was just hitting its cusp, and young and old scurried for seats as soon as they had what they wanted, as though they had no concept of leisure. Mistel watched them go, bemused, and brightened a little as she saw Nessiah and Kylier towards the very end of one of the tables.

Nessiah was taking his time about the table, from what Mistel could see—apparently from lethargy or lack of appetite, both of which were a little unusual for him. Though he hadn't been back at the capital for long, Mistel had long since noted that breakfast was the only daily meal that Nessiah could be relied upon to be present for, and the only one where he actually showed much interest in eating. Kylier seemed to be nagging him—she wore a ferocious scowl that reminded Mistel of the way she looked while tearing strips out of Milanor.

"Eat," she heard Kylier snap as she drew closer. "Or do I have to _force _your food into you?" The irritation in her voice said she'd do it, too, if she got angry enough.

Nessiah's reply was soft, but though the words weren't audible, the noncommittal tone most certainly was.

Kylier made a frustrated sound that was almost a growl and smacked him in the shoulder. "Keep this up, and I'm gonna go get Gulcasa."

Apparently, this was threat enough. Nessiah winced, sighed, and went back to staring morosely at the table (and presumably his breakfast).

Mistel arranged her features into her usual cheerful smile and slid into the empty seat beside Nessiah, setting her tray down with a clatter and a flourish. "Well, well, if it isn't the hero of the hour!" She glanced at his plate, and was surprised to see that the food on it looked almost completely untouched—someone, probably Kylier, had stacked it with a little of every culinary weakness Nessiah had. "No appetite this morning, hmmm? Well, that won't do—you're recovering from a great loss of energy, and from what I hear, yesterday wasn't very restorative…"

"Hey, Mistel," Kylier said with an exhausted little wave.

Nessiah turned to her beseechingly, doing his utmost to look as utterly piteous as possible. (It was a little odd, Mistel thought privately, how expressive he managed to be without his eyes.) But while she clearly took in his complete disinterest with food, Mistel _also _saw that his skin was whiter than marble, and noted the heavy bandages on his hands. He was frail of constitution by nature, he was wounded, and from what she'd heard at the public baths from Yggdra and Elena, he was recovering from a severe emotional shock. This clearly would not do.

"Sad faces won't work on me when you and I both know Kylier has the right of it," Mistel chided gently. "See if you can't manage a little, at least. Like this." Picking up her chopsticks, she pointed them at the sticks of deep-fried, sugar-battered bread on the near edge of his plate. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are that you can eat those regularly? Your body type just never gets fat, and all the oils and sugars in these have my blood curdling just _looking _at them. You could use all those oils and sugars today, in fact."

"Yeah, like you should be complaining," Kylier grumbled from Nessiah's other side. _"You _can eat stuff like that and it just makes your _boobs _bigger. I'm practically a frigging ironing board, and they won't get bigger no matter _what _I eat."

"You're far from being an ironing board, dear," Mistel assured her, amused.

"Yeah, I know I've actually _got _a chest and all, but _Nietzsche's _are almost as big as mine and she's _twelve. _It's _pathetic. _And Yggdra—God, let's not even _go _there."

"Yes, please," Nessiah said dryly. _"Must _my trial by breakfast be accompanied by this type of discussion of the female anatomy?"

"Trial by breakfast my ass—you still haven't eaten anything at all!" Kylier narrowed her eyes at him. "And, hey, if we wanna talk about being _small…"_

Nessiah went scarlet so fast that Mistel couldn't help but giggle. "It's called _being proportional to my height, _thank you very much!"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that—_how _well do you measure up to Roswell, again?" Kylier drawled, resting her chin on the heel of her hand.

Nessiah's blush continued to darken. "I note how you aren't comparing me to Milanor—oh, that's _right, _you still wouldn't be _able _to, would you? Considering how little of _him _you've seen?"

_"Hey!" _Kylier squawked.

"And not for lack of trying—or is it?" Nessiah went on venomously.

"Shut your face, Ness! Just because _some _of us won't jump people every freaking opportunity we have—"

Mistel coughed, giggled, and leaned around to pat both combatants on the shoulder. "Alright, you two, I think there's been enough below-the-belt hits for one morning. Contrary to your sniping, size _really _shouldn't matter that much, so you can both relax; Nessiah, your food is going to get cold, and then it'll be even _less _pleasant to eat."

Kylier grumbled something, then turned into her glass of juice, tipping it back and apparently trying to drain all its contents at once. Nessiah fumbled with his utensils, his bandages making him clumsy, but managed to get one slab of fried bread at the end of a fork and began to nibble resignedly at one corner.

"And, Kylier—please, you'll have to be patient with any ineptness on Milanor's part," Mistel went on. "He knows _much _less about what he's doing than you—for all his bluster, he _can't _really help that he's still a virgin, you know."

With that parting shot, she went back to her own cooling breakfast, eating with a calm smile as both Kylier and Nessiah nearly choked laughing. Two birds with one stone—she'd managed to get them back in good moods and deal a blow to the thief boy's manly ego at once.

She still caught him referring to her as _old _sometimes, so she still dealt out revenge piecemeal when she had the opportunity. The little brat. All this time in civilized company, and he _still _hadn't managed to adopt civilized manners.

Now that Nessiah's attention was on his breakfast, as it should've been from the beginning, Mistel finished up her own and got up, heading back to replace her tray and empty dishes.

On the way to the door, she passed by Durant. The tall knight was leaning against the wall with his arms folded and an unusually sullen look on his face, his blue eyes frosty. Slowing to a halt, she followed his line of sight curiously—he seemed to be glowering at the head table.

_…Ah… _Mistel nodded, enlightened, as she saw that Gulcasa had come to sit next to Yggdra and that the two of them were holding an animated discussion over their breakfast. Looking on, she watched Yggdra laugh a little at something the young emperor said; she touched his shoulder lightly, and both of them noticed it at the same moment and drew back, embarrassed.

Durant saw it too, and bristled.

Most of his attitude was that of his conservative mindset and how he'd always been overprotective of Yggdra as his liege. But then, a good part of that mother-hen instinct _did _come from the fact that Durant had always carried a bit of a torch for the girl—Yggdra didn't seem to know it, but it was obvious to any well-versed adult with eyes. And considering the amount of trouble Yggdra was headed for now, the discord Mistel saw brewing in Durant's prickles would only make the situation worse.

Planting one hand on her hip, she reached out with her other to tap the knight's shoulder. When he turned to her guardedly, she just shook her head.

"It's no use giving them the hairy eye now, dear," she said in a low tone. "You've fought Gulcasa enough, watched him enough to know—now that he cares for her, he'd never intentionally harm her, and he'll do as much to protect her as you or any member of the Royal Army would. Besides, your jealousies are pointless. You had plenty of opportunity yourself before things got to this stage." She tipped her head just slightly in Yggdra's direction to illustrate.

Durant turned away. "Regretfully, I must needs inform milady that she has her own state of affairs to mind." His voice chilled even more than his stare.

Mistel folded her arms and scowled. "Have it as you like it, then." She turned on her heel and marched out of the mess hall.

--

Still irritated by Durant and his pointless envies, Mistel gathered up her scythe and headed outside with a mind to do a few practice dances and take out her frustration at the courts. She'd changed out of her gown and into a tunic of the same deep red hue, in the mind that if she was going to get good and sweaty anyway she didn't want to mess up a nice dress.

Durant _meant _well. She knew it, and admired how willing he was to throw himself between Yggdra and danger. But that didn't stop her from wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until the contents of his skull started to rattle when he started acting like _that. _Couldn't he _see _that there was more at stake now, and that there was no use prowling around like an overzealous father who didn't approve of his pubescent daughter's male friends?

When it came down to that—Mistel didn't know how long Gulcasa and Yggdra's tentative beginnings of a relationship would last under fire, but if it came out the other side of this stressful battle tempered and true, nothing but good would come of it… for them, and for their countries, too. Fantasinia and Bronquia needed something more _solid _than a few papers pledging peace and alliance to quell the last fires of enmity between them. Intermarriage of the heads of state would throw the last few shovels of dirt over that hatchet.

Still—oh, such things were quite far off indeed. Gulcasa and Yggdra were _young, _and it was easy to fall in and out of love even at _Mistel's _age. Love very rarely came easily, after all—you just had to give Roswell and Rosary a passing glance to be sure of _that._

_How _that girl managed to keep turning up her nose at a charming, pretty young man who was clearly hopelessly besotted with her—well, _some _mysteries seemed destined to go unsolved… but that wasn't the point.

The _point, _Mistel reminded herself, was that enough trouble was brewing already without any more internal conflict than they already _had. _Durant was quaint and charming in his own way, and she had to admit she sometimes wanted to flutter a little in his moments of amusing and yet touching nobility—but, good _God, _if he didn't acquire the sense not to hover like a slighted _peacock _every damn time Gulcasa so much as _smiled _at Yggdra, Mistel was going to have a hell of a time not grabbing that oversized lance of his and giving it a good shove up…

Well. Durant had better get his head in the game, was all.

_MEN, _Mistel seethed to herself, balling up her free fist. _All the good ones have either given their hearts away long ago or have no interest whatsoever in the female sex. It's enough to make a woman wish she could just decide to go lesbian and be on her way._

So thinking, she shook her head, then glanced towards a thin stand of trees to her right as she caught a flash of cherry pink through their leaves.

Curious, she meandered over, and saw that Zilva was perched up in one of them, stretched out along one thick limb as she watched Elena in the clearing beyond.

_Well, speak of the devil… _Or think around it, at least. Coming to the foot of the tree, Mistel leaned against its trunk with an over-exaggeratedly blustering sigh, resting the blunt of her scythe's blade in the grass.

"Bee in your bonnet, Commander?" Zilva's voice was soft and rather toneless, as usual, but Mistel could tell that she was amused in that dry way of hers.

Glancing up at the expressionless assassin, Mistel just shook her head. "You _do _realize that you've got no idea how good you have it," she informed the Imperial spymistress.

Zilva just arched one dark silver brow and stared levelly at Mistel, waiting.

"Durant," the tactician said disgustedly, putting volumes of exasperation into the word.

"Ah." And a low chuckle as Zilva eased herself up into a sitting position, gripping a higher branch and crossing her legs. "Their Majesties treading on his notions of propriety?"

"I suppose we could call it that. I can't very well call _him _out on the courts; I'll make it worse. So the practice dummies are going to have to suffer in his stead." Mistel gestured towards Elena—the girl was standing out in the middle of the grassy fields, her back turned, facing away from the light wind. "Training?"

Zilva gave a slight nod. "Her Artifact. I advise that you not approach; she doesn't have it quite under control yet, and is practicing on the animals there for now. It might yet be dangerous to human ears."

Mistel remembered being shown Elena's new pactio card after Nessiah had returned with the erstwhile hostages in tow and his worried partners had been banished so Flone could see to his burns. The object in her hands had been some type of flute.

"Its powers?" she asked simply, cocking her head a little.

"You'll see soon enough," was Zilva's reply, the corner of her lips twitching slightly.

Mistel sighed. "I'll leave the pair of you to it, then—and mind you don't go taking _too _much advantage of all this open space and no people. I'll be so jealous I'll have to throttle the next person to get in my way."

Zilva sat back and half-closed her eyes, openly smirking. "Just for you."

Mistel waved a hand at her, heaved her scythe back up, and continued on towards the practice grounds. She knew Zilva was only teasing—to Mistel's knowledge, the assassin hadn't yet made any moves towards steering her protégée into bed—but as always, the little verbal barbs were masterfully aimed and had hit right where they were intended. Zilva _could _get some whenever she wanted to. Mistel wasn't getting any at the moment, and that was an irritating thing.

Oh, she _could _if she wanted to—there were enough decent-looking young courtiers up for those things—but she'd grown to despise the shallow nature of the one-night stand. She couldn't pretend she wouldn't like a man in her bed, but all the same, she wanted the decision to take a lover to have weight.

And it just _burned _like nothing else that as soon as she'd gotten the notion of putting designs on Durant, Gulcasa and his entourage had made their appearance and the _idiot _knight had gotten squawky and indignant over the young rulers' shy advances.

It all came back to _MEN. _Particularly _that _one.

Shaking her head, Mistel passed under the stone gates and into the wide expanse of closely shorn grass and sand.

Someone—it looked like Milanor—was doing a strange variation on sit-ups off towards the other end of the field, being cheered on by a few of his thieves; the Queen's valkyrie bodyguards were playing a game of catch-the-fan with a weighted, bladed shukusen; Russell was going off on one of the stuffed dummies with a wooden sword; Durant had laid claim to the land and was jousting at a quintain. Gulcasa's two bodyguards were in the middle of a drill with a few guardsmen Mistel knew only by sight—and Gulcasa himself was in one of the fenced-off challenge rings, working his way steadily through a pattern dance.

Obviously, the ideal form of combat training was to engage in a practice battle against an opponent of similar or greater skill to oneself. Just as obviously, people like that weren't always easy to come by, especially for armsmasters and skilled warriors. So when a dummy or partner wasn't available, most schools of weapons training had conceived of the pattern dance—a series of linked techniques that allowed a fighter to exercise by him- or herself. There were always many with each discipline, ranging in difficulty from warm-up exercises to those requiring mastery of one's chosen weapon.

Gulcasa danced with his eyes half-closed, swinging his exaggeratedly long-poled scythe (his _Artifact, _Mistel noticed as she drew closer) in broad slashes and circles, then tight ones. He shifted his weight evenly as he moved, stepping and changing stances swiftly, even dipping into what Mistel recognized as counters and a few rolls. His hair streamed like ruby fire behind him, and he was breathing deeply, his shoulders shiny with sweat. Apparently, he'd been at this for a while.

Entranced, Mistel drew closer and closer until she leaned against the rails themselves, setting her elbows on the top bar of the fencing and letting her face rest in her hands. She'd never seen Gulcasa at practice before—having battled him in earnest, she _knew _how powerful he was, but in the abject pandemonium of the battlefield, it was hard to appreciate any artistry in your enemy's form. She'd never seen any of his men at practice, either—it had been a long time since she'd seen _any _scythe-users doing so, at least as long as she'd completed her own training. Her school was different in a lot of ways—her scythe's haft was considerably shorter, making her weapon more the size of a farmer's sickle, since she was wielding it from her natural height and not from the back of a mount—but since she knew that scythes were the traditional weapon of elite Bronquian knights, she'd always wanted to really study Gulcasa's style.

It was beautiful. Sinuous where her movements would be angular, emphasizing power and weight where she would let the swing of her weapon carry her in light, dancing circles—somehow more masculine, and almost sensual with the feel of raw strength it carried in those motions.

Gulcasa was just as much a master as she.

His movements began to slow, gradually bringing him to a halt. With a sigh, he straightened up, letting his scythe's blade rest against the dirt, and shook his hair back. He didn't look tired—more than anything, he looked refreshed.

Mistel couldn't help herself—she smiled, and applauded softly, lightly. When Gulcasa looked up at her with upraised eyebrows, she just laughed. "You have excellent form—it's nothing more than a pleasure to watch. I almost wish you hadn't stopped."

Gulcasa gave her his crooked smile. "Just wanted a breather, is all. I'll be back at it in a few minutes, if you're interested in remaining my audience."

"Have a care, milady," rang Durant's voice from the lane, dripping with disapproval. Both Gulcasa and Mistel turned to look at him—he'd reined in his charger, and it danced a little where it stood, obviously wanting to get moving. "It may not be safe for one such as you to stay so close, in case there are any… accidental injuries."

Mistel glowered. "Seems I must needs inform sir knight that he has his _own _training to concern himself with," she snapped, mimicking his cold and overly-formal tone from breakfast. "And that I must remind him the dangers of condescending to a master of the martial disciplines." So saying, she hefted up her scythe and lightly jumped over the fencing, placing herself in the ring with Gulcasa.

Durant gave her a long, measuring stare, then spurred his horse on again.

Gulcasa set his free fist on his hip, staring after the knight with a confused but obvious, "Well, what's up with _him?" _look on his face.

"Never mind that man," Mistel instructed, still feeling the blood pounding in her ears. "I've been meaning to ask for a practice match for quite some time—if you don't mind the company?"

Gulcasa seemed surprised for a moment, but only a moment. His arm tensed on his scythe as he broke out in a wide smile, holding up his other hand to crook a finger at her. "As long as you think you can keep up!"

That was all it took. The two of them launched towards each other with a cry, blade clanging against blade.

It was a lot better to actually spar with Gulcasa than to watch him. His reactions were split-second, and executed with the kind of wire-strung instinct of a wild thing. Shades of his dragon's blood, perhaps—but whatever its source, Mistel didn't care. She hadn't had a one-on-one battle like this for a _long _time—Gulcasa either blocked each of her strikes with his scythe's blade or haft or melted out of their way completely, and Mistel found herself having to really work to meet his flame-and-iron defense and fierce offense with its like.

As they danced back and forth across the tightly packed dirt and shifting sand, Mistel saw a joy matching her own leap in Gulcasa's molten-gold eyes.

He lunged; she made as if to parry and weaved around him, striking at his unprotected back. Too wise to that trick to be caught by it, Gulcasa swung his scythe around behind him, blocking Mistel's blow bare inches from his body. Mistel pushed against his guard with all the strength in her shoulders for a moment, then sank in with all her weight, hooking her heel around his instep and giving it a good yank. Gulcasa let out a highly undignified yelp and almost dropped his scythe as he pitched forward, tucking and rolling at the last minute but landing flat on his back. Mistel followed it up, dashing in and swinging her own scythe around to his unguarded throat, tipping his chin up with the blade as he looked up at her with wide eyes, the pupils contracted almost to slits.

After a moment or two, he let his scythe drop from his hands, and held them palms-up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I give—you got me."

At that, there was a smattering of applause, as well as a burst of soft laughter from close by. Mistel looked around to see that everyone who'd been practicing here had stopped to watch, and that Nessiah was leaning against the fence across from where she'd been before.

"It's been a while since I've seen you do _that," _he told Gulcasa, still laughing.

"Ah, shut it," was Gulcasa's good-natured response. As Mistel lifted her blade from his larynx, he sat up and shook sand out of his hair. "Win some, lose some—it's the same for everybody. And that goes for you, too, in case you've forgotten."

"Yes, yes, I know."

Durant, Mistel noted, was staring at her with a comical and _very _unflattering expression of abject shock. Meeting his eyes, she jerked her chin up and very deliberately turned away.

_What do you think of my abilities now? Remembered yet that we fought equally for the same cause? You'd best not forget my capabilities again. Asshole._

"We need to do this again sometime," Gulcasa was saying, flashing her a rather feral grin. "It's been quite a while since I've been able to have combat by scythe in earnest—besides, apparently I now have to win my honor back from you."

"Tomorrow sounds nice," Mistel told him, smiling. "Now, now, everyone—haven't you all gawked enough at His Majesty? And haven't you training of your own?"

The others all seemed to remember that fact, and scrambled off to get back to it.

"Not I—actually, I'm down here to fetch _you," _Nessiah remarked with a nod to her. "There's tea and an unfinished chess game waiting for us back at the castle."

"I'll be right with you in a moment," Mistel agreed—she'd just noticed that the laces of one of her boots had come undone, and knelt to fix it.

"How have you been doing today?" she heard Gulcasa murmur. "Any better?"

"Would I be out and about elsewise?" was Nessiah's soft reply. "Gulcasa—I'd rather you not worry about me so much, not when you have enough other concerns to deal with."

"It's not just your fight anymore." This had the sound of an oft-repeated warning to Mistel.

"I know…" A sigh. Silence. "Gulcasa…"

"Yes?"

"I just… I want to thank you, for yesterday. I didn't intend to burden you, or any of the others. I didn't think at all before I came running to you, and you were exhausted… still, you stayed with me, and you didn't turn me out so you could sleep. Roswell said that you stayed awake until he came in, too… you didn't have to do any of that."

"You were panicking, you were out-of-your-mind terrified… God, Nessa, what was I supposed to do? Anyone with half a heart would've let you stay."

"You say that, but…" Nessiah's voice grew softer, so that Mistel had to strain her ears to listen. "…I just… I feel safe when I'm with you. That was why I could only think of coming to you. No—please, just listen. You let me in, you didn't push me when you saw I couldn't tell you what was wrong—you held me, you comforted me… _gods, _you made sure I changed clothes so I wouldn't catch cold… you took care of—my eyes. You let me sleep next to you—you didn't even move me back to my own rooms in the morning… Gulcasa, you… you held me while I slept. You did everything you could to make sure I wouldn't be afraid. Being you, I'm sure you won't insist on it… which is good, because there's no possible way that I could ever repay you for this."

"I'd never want you to. You're my friend. You'd do the same for me. It's enough, just knowing that."

"Still… still. I can never thank you for this enough." Nessiah's voice was soft, almost pained. Mistel peeked up discreetly to see that the two of them were standing close together, and that Nessiah was faintly pink in the face. Gulcasa had his back to her, but his movements were gentle when he rested his hand on Nessiah's head and tousled his hair.

"You know, for someone people think is so self-concerned, your bad case of honor is almost as pronounced as mine." Gulcasa's voice was teasing, but still gentle. "You're always welcome. You're important to me, so you can get used to having my shoulder when you need it any time now."

Nessiah leaned into that shoulder, and whatever he said in response was muffled against it.

"Yeah, yeah." Gulcasa laughed a little. "Chess and tea, remember? You'd better get going."

"I suppose…" Nessiah straightened up and shook his head. "Mistel?"

"Coming," she announced, and got up, dusting her knees off. As Gulcasa returned to the middle of the ring, she headed over to the edge, climbing over the boards of the fence and walking towards the gates of the courts with Nessiah.

"It took you quite a while to tie those boots," he said somewhat reproachfully.

Mistel shrugged. "It looked like you two were having a moment. I didn't want to interrupt if you were."

Nessiah just shook his head.

--

The tea today had the light flavor of blackberries, and Mistel added a little milk to it, stirring absently as she took her place behind the white pieces.

Nessiah looked over the board, then folded his hands. "It's your turn," he reminded her.

Between a pair of tacticians, chess games could take a very long time. Between that fact and the reality that the two of them only had about an hour each day, Mistel and Nessiah had been at this particular game for around a week and a half. Nessiah was up three pieces, but Mistel had nearly all of his pawns by now—he'd been cleverly using them to shield his more important pieces, and she was curious to see what he would do when he ran out of them.

More importantly, one of his knights was open. Mistel scanned her pieces to see which of them was in the best position to take it, and selected one of her bishops, sliding it across the board to the knight's square, picking it up as she pushed the white piece on.

As Mistel deposited the captured knight on the pile of black pieces next to the board, Nessiah considered his pieces for only a moment before knocking Mistel's bishop over with one of his rooks.

"Ah, how could I have missed that?" Mistel leaned back in her chair, laughed, and took a sip of her tea.

"Probably because I'm quite sure I saw Durant's face on that knight for a moment there," Nessiah replied with that mischievous little smile. "I'm almost ashamed of myself for taking advantage of that, but… this is chess." He shrugged. "Still—you take risks; I like that about you. It's much more fun playing against you than it was playing against _Baldus. _Good gods, the man would spend his every turn just moving his _king _a space unless you left pieces in the open with the intention he should snap them up." It was a complaint, but Mistel still heard a great deal of affection in it. It didn't surprise her. Every member of the Imperial Army seemed to have fond memories of the old man who'd been their defensive strategist; Mistel suspected she'd have liked him, too, by the way they spoke of him.

"You're right to be sure about Durant's face," Mistel told him, moving a pawn up one space. "He's been driving me half-mad all day." And she related the breakfast incident to him, as well as Durant's chauvinism out on the practice courts.

Nessiah was silent for a moment. He considered the chessboard, then sliced his bishop across it, knocking over Mistel's pawn. "Check," he announced with relish, pointing at the open trail of black squares leading to her unprotected king.

"Damn," she muttered without any real venom, and moved her king to a white square.

"Well, I suppose you could say this is living proof of the old adage that you have to bend before you break," Nessiah told her, considering his next move. "Durant is a knight of the realm. He's very fixed in his ways, and has grown to depend on tradition and the status quo. That's probably the reason he's never made a move on Yggdra himself—she outranks him so much, and it's improper, and things like that. Unfortunately, it's also improper to fraternize with former enemies in any fashion in his book—that plus his jealousy is what's turned him into such a dry stick over her maybe-more-someday friendship with Gulcasa. As I'm sure you've noted, he's going to have to learn flexibility sooner or later, or he's not going to be able to cope with this on top of the war and we'll have some pyrotechnics to mop up here."

Pausing a moment longer, he remarked, "It's a wonder he hasn't gotten apoplectic over Zilva and Elena yet. I must say, it's surprised _me."_ And he moved his sole remaining pawn up a space, placing it at the edge of the board. "I don't have spares at the moment—this is a queen now."

Mistel nodded. "Well, that's easy enough to explain—the lack of apoplexy, I mean. His second-in-command is very, very gay. Spent most nights of the campaigns getting sweaty with one of Roswell's men. We figure Durant got used to it then." And she moved her remaining rook across the board, neatly excising Nessiah's ex-pawn.

"Ah, damn—didn't even _see _that—good move," Nessiah said, sounding surprised. "If that's the case, maybe Durant will be able to get used to this eventually."

"Eventually might not be soon enough, is the annoying thing." Mistel shook her head. "Gulcasa's already starting to wonder, and you know if _Yggdra _gets wind of Durant's attitude, it's going to hurt her…"

"We may be able to use that to get him to lay off a bit, though," Nessiah suggested, twitching his bishop over three squares to claim the rook.

"Maybe." Mistel doubted that, but she kept it to herself. "How are your hands doing? All those bandages look painful."

Nessiah glanced down at them and shrugged, making his chains clink a little. "Not so much. The bandages are annoying, but Flone refuses to let me take them off until the burns heal completely. I _have_ gotten permission from her to use the same wonder balm I have for my scars on them, which helps.

"Believe me. As far as pain goes… well. Getting hit with the spell that _did _all this in the first place was what hurt. And I can cope with it."

"Gulcasa will get worried," Mistel said mildly.

Nessiah smiled a little. "He'll have to handle that. There's nothing I can do about it, though he knows I'd rather he didn't. Worry about me, I mean."

Mistel giggled. "I think it's kind of cute."

"You would. You don't have him giving you the evil eye and insisting that you let him in on all your problems. If I need his help with anything, he's perfectly sweet, perfectly gentle, doesn't ask questions… until later, when I think I'm off the hook. Then he gets all implacable-emperor on me. It's driving me mad."

"But you wouldn't have him any other way," Mistel said softly, thinking _checkmate._

"No, I don't suppose I would…" Nessiah heaved a light sigh. "…Don't ask me why…"

"You can't help the way you feel," she replied, moving her king back a square. "Can any of us, when it comes to that?"

Nessiah jolted a little in his seat, suddenly realizing what she'd gotten him to admit. "Just for that," he said in a low growl, and swept his queen up from the back of the board to claim her unprotected knight. "Check."

Mistel just smiled. The outcome of this chess game suddenly felt a lot less important to her, and even Durant and his idiocy didn't bother her as much. How could it, when she knew she'd won the less-obvious round of chess she and Nessiah had just played?

**(tsuzuku)**


	15. Antipyretic

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

When he left the table that day, Nessiah wondered if this new waking-up-with-anxiety thing was going to be habit-forming. He wasn't sure if it would be, and didn't like the idea that it might be. Still, since the night he'd revisited that worst of memories in vivid nightmare form, he'd never awakened in that old state of tranquil calm.

Just shy of two hours ago, he'd _jolted _awake, checking his shields for any signs of damage half by instinct. Even seeing there was nothing wrong with them, he'd still taken a minute or so to find stability, and then he'd lain still and curled into Roswell beside him. Still half-asleep, his lover had put warm arms around him, seeking as always to comfort; Nessiah had traced the soft contours of Roswell's cheek and wondered just how long he would be allowed to have this.

Roswell had done a fine job of distracting him—_gods, _the man had such beautiful clever hands and warm sensual lips and he knew how to use them—but over breakfast, that awful feeling had returned. The feeling of waiting for the next bad thing to come and blindside them all.

The memory of the past night was not helping.

_Gods, is there just something wrong with me? _Nessiah wondered miserably. _Roswell gives of himself almost too much, and I—I try as often as he'll let me, and desperately, and almost every time I just… just go to pieces. Gods. I have nothing to fear from him, _nothing, _and yet it's as if my body has a mind of its own when it comes to this…_

Sinking into one of the wide padded oriels, Nessiah curled up tightly and all but burned with abject shame.

He hadn't given Roswell a chance to argue last night, knowing that there _would _be that all-too-gentle refusal, that plea for a little more time. He'd just pulled his lover down with him, and for a few minutes, he'd actually thought that _this _time, _this _time it might finally work. But then Roswell had touched him there—so lightly, it was barely even a touch—and everything inside him had just gone to ice. Before he knew what was happening, he'd shoved Roswell away and was curled trembling into the spread.

The worst of it was that Roswell had just been so damn _understanding. _There'd been no pity in his eyes, no frustration—just sympathy. He'd stroked Nessiah's hair, told him softly that it was alright, that it might still be too early to regularly expect more, that they didn't have to do anything at all that night. He'd repeated the last part with a little more force when Nessiah had said he wanted to try again. And had put an arm around his shoulders while Nessiah had wished fervently and bitterly that it was within his power to just vanish and never be found again.

Roswell had been sharing his bed for quite a while before the Royal and Imperial armies had separated for the winter, and even between then and now, Nessiah could count on one hand the number of times he'd been able to give himself to his lover and follow through with it all. He _hated _that. He just wished—he just wished there was more strength in him, that he didn't have to panic so thoroughly and so often.

Because the reality of it was beautiful. There was a little fear and a little pain, yes, but the rush of emotion was all but overwhelming, and—and it was the same as when he and Roswell were naked together and Roswell would ever so softly kiss his scars. It was that feeling—that feeling of being vulnerable and _knowing _he wouldn't be harmed, knowing he could be helpless if only for a moment… that wholehearted sense of trust. He wanted that feeling of _trust _even more than he wanted the pleasures of lovemaking.

But…

There were too many people to blame for this, for the wildness and the terror that had been written so deeply into him that it seemed they could never be erased or rewritten. _That person _and Paltina, certainly. The gods, the soldiers of the gods—anyone who'd ever turned a weapon or their ill intent on his too-fragile body. They'd made it so that he feared to touch, feared to _be _touched, had not allowed _anyone's _touch for many of the long, long years of his life.

And he blamed himself, for not being stronger.

_Roswell deserves better than this. He deserves someone who's actually capable of giving everything. _And then there was the thought, deep in the back of his mind, in that snide and smug little voice: _You see. It doesn't matter whether Gulcasa might have _feelings _for me, the way some people think. Even if he loved me, he wouldn't truly be able to touch me, and he wouldn't want to be with me if he knew he couldn't have me._

No matter how he tried to protest that Gulcasa was a better person than that, the thought _felt _true, which was as bad or worse as its actually _being _true.

Nessiah hated that most of all.

Even as he curled tighter, the cushion he sat on shifted as someone sat beside him. Halfheartedly wondering if he should just go ahead and throw himself out the window if it was Roswell come to be crushingly _understanding _again, Nessiah sat up and looked. It was Kylier.

"What happened?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Kylier shifted uncomfortably where she sat, giving him an uncertain look. "Ness… jeez, at least you know better than to tell me it's nothing. So what is it? Look, I—you came downstairs fine, and you'd clearly had your morning snuggles and were happy with that, but… that little 'I'm having blow-the-roof-off sex with hot, hot Roswell and I'm on top of the world' glow was gone in five minutes. It took you, like, _half an hour _to pick your way through your food, and your head was off in the clouds somewhere the whole time. In a nasty thunderhead, it looks like. It was so obvious that even _Milanor _was asking me if something was wrong, okay? You've been acting kinda weird lately, and—I'm worried. Is this—" she paused, glanced around, and leaned in to continue in a lower voice "—something to do with… all _that _stuff, or… more dreams, or someone messing with your head, or…?"

"Nothing that noteworthy," he told her, caught himself, and sighed.

"Then what _is _it? C'mon, Ness, I _know _all I can do is hear you out—you're the only one who can solve your personal issues—so at least let me do that, okay?" she wheedled.

It was no use. He knew it was no use resisting, knew he'd wind up telling her later anyway. Besides, even if he stalled or tried to divert her attention, she'd guess what was wrong eventually. She knew him too well not to. And he had no secrets from her.

"Last night…" He hesitated, drew his knees up to his chest and laced his fingers around them. Kylier just watched, patiently. And slowly, painfully, he told her everything.

Her expression didn't change much—the concern deepened a little, but that was all. He could have died of gratitude.

"Shit, Ness, this is _normal—_there's nothing wrong with you," she said at last. "After we got back, and things got more sorted out in my head, I did what I could to learn a little more about the effects of—that kind of thing on people. It's like—like you being afraid of the dark now, a little. What that motherfucking asshat did to you made you crazy, honest-to-God bat-shit crazy, so you're afraid of sex sometimes when there's no real reason you can see. Your body's trying to protect itself."

"…Even after all these years?" Nessiah said quietly, bitterly.

"Hell, yes! Let's see—" Kylier leaned back against the fat cushion that sat against the wall. "What did you do to process and heal during 'all those years', as you put it? Well—there was the previously mentioned bat-shit craziness, of course, during which lots of other not-very-fun stuff happened to you. When you started getting sane again, did you talk to anybody? Nope. There was nobody you _could _talk to. Were you interested in jumping anyone? No way. You were way too scared and too mistrustful of people to so much as reach out to anybody, literally _or _figuratively. So what'd you do with all that trauma? You stuffed it all into a little black box, shoved it into the back of your head, and hoped it would go away.

"Only it didn't go away. It's been leaking all this time; it's been hurting you. You're stronger now, so you didn't lose your mind again when the box opened, but now you have to deal with it. Ness… I can't remember jack shit about what was going on in the real world while I was going through your head, so I'm taking Yggdra and Milanor's word on this. They told me that you were on the ground screaming and I was holding my head and crying like a baby. 'Cause even before I blew the lid off that damn box, your mind was—was completely rotten with it. Given that…

"Given that, I think… you should be kinda relieved you're only freaking out about this one thing, y'know? Just the fact that you keep trying anyway makes you one of the bravest damn people I know. How's _that? _And since you keep trying, sometimes it'll work, until 'sometimes' turns into 'usually' and then 'always' and Roswell decides he likes pitching so much that he won't let you unless you copiously service him first." So saying, Kylier put her hands on her hips and smiled.

Nessiah couldn't help it—he laughed a little, then put his head in his hands. "But I still—I still _hate _this. It feels a little like I'm taking advantage… Roswell will do whatever I ask, and I can't even give him this."

"I dunno…" Kylier shrugged and looked out across the empty hall. "I mean, whenever Rosary screws around with his head and he comes running to you like, 'I love her and she's being mean to me, let's have sex!' and you're always all, 'sure, sex is fine!'—looking at it that way, _Roswell's _the one who takes advantage, not you."

"It's not really like that, and even so… if I could do it the first time, when I was _much _more frightened, why can't I now? It—doesn't make sense, and it makes me feel even worse about this…"

"Ness." Serious now, Kylier sat up and put her hands on his shoulders, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "That sick bastard tortured you and raped you. You're getting to the point where you can move past it, even though you're struggling a little. You're in love, and you're attracted to Gulcasa both mentally and physically. That is a victory. You're enough attracted by him to respond to him the way you should, and you're able to touch yourself. That is a victory. You're in a positive physical relationship with someone who accepts you, even if it's more of a friendly thing than love or passion. That is a victory. Your sex life may be complicated as all holy hell, but you still have one. That is a victory. Just the fact that we're _having this conversation _is a victory, okay? And, counting the first night—how many times have you slept with Roswell and you've been submissive?"

Nessiah blushed, but answered honestly. "…Four."

"See? That's one hell of a victory. And you're going to keep winning little victories like that until you're sexually healthy again. Okay? Just—don't backslide by hating yourself because it's taking a while, and don't think of yourself like you're defective. You're giving this all you have. If you blame yourself instead of the people who are _really _responsible for you being so fucked-up, that's a victory for _him. _You don't want to let him win."

"No," he whispered, feeling what tattered strength remained in him rise up, rallying to her words. "No, I don't."

"There you go." Straightening up a little, Kylier gave him a light slap on the shoulder. "That's a victory, too. And, just for the record—I don't think knowing any of this would change the way Gulcasa feels about you one bit."

Nessiah flinched. Sometimes he was sure that Kylier knew him altogether _too _well.

"I mean, _shit, _you do much more than talk around the edges of sex in his hearing and he gets all deathly embarrassed. All things considered, it's going to take him a hell of a lot longer than it's going to take you to be comfortable with it." She grinned.

It was probably true, but what could he do but defend Gulcasa? "Says the virgin. Do we need to have a little chat about pots that call kettles black, then?"

Kylier flushed a little, then shrugged. "Yeah, but—I don't know for how much longer."

A brief silence. Nessiah considered her for a moment longer. "What does that mean?"

"Well—just a little while ago, I got to be alone with Milanor for a while, and… well, things got a little… heated. And not even in the usual way—though, God knows if we hadn't decided to try kissing we'd've ended up arguing. It seemed for a little bit like it would go further, but…" She frowned, looking thoughtful. "Actually, what happened to _you _popped into my head, and I put the brakes on real quick."

Freshly mortified, Nessiah just shook his head. "Good _gods, _now my memories are even traumatizing _you, _and interfering with _your _love life? Kylier…"

"If they're even making _me _freak out, it just keeps going to show that your reaction is normal," she interrupted. "And, oh, boy am I glad it _did _pop into my head. Both of us realized we'd gone from 'making out' to 'fooling around', and neither of us had any kind of protection—so it's a good thing. But, still. Who knows when we'd have that kind of opportunity nowadays with all this paranoid-angels craziness, but after it all gets settled…"

"…………" Nessiah watched her slow smile, then sighed. "Well, gods know _I _can't stand the boy, but you really do care about him, don't you? Please. Look into protection. Because if he gets you pregnant out of wedlock, be warned that I _will _string him from the ceiling by his intestines. Alive."

Kylier snorted. "That's a lovely picture. Alright, before you get the chance to fantasize over that too much—we gotta go do some group practice with the Artifacts, right? Zilva and Elena still aren't telling us what Elena's is supposed to do…"

"That's… probably a good idea." It would take his mind off this mess, at least.

"Isn't it? So, grab your spellbook and let's head on out."

--

"No, no—Yggdra, you're still trying a bit too hard," Nessiah instructed as Yggdra stared frustratedly down at her Artifact. "Let it flow naturally—give it a moment before you take another crack at it. You're trying to force the magic—just _want _it and let it come. You can do this—never mind Kylier and Roswell; she learned to use hers under stress and he already knows how to use his—and this goes for you, too, Elena. Look at Gulcasa!"

All of them did. The young Emperor was a little ways off from them, swinging Flamma Imperia in bright broad arcs, fire trailing from its blade. Rapture was as plain on his face as it would be on that of a child playing with a new toy.

"He's taken to that spell like a born mage, and he can even get it to light unincanted nine times out of ten," Nessiah pointed out. "All of you have as much magical aptitude as him or more—I should be seeing that kind of success out of every one of you, not just him!"

"Give 'em a break, Ness," Kylier piped up, glaring at him over the rim of her mirror. "We practice when we can, and Zilva's still working Elena in the training from hell, but Gulcasa's the only one who can manage to get down here three times a day!"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you know?" Yggdra ventured, and smiled when Nessiah turned to her. "Gulcasa doesn't have as many duties to see to here as we do… when he's not doing ordinary exercise or working with his dragon, he's usually somewhere just outside castle bounds, practicing with his Artifact."

"He puts us all to shame," Roswell added with a smile.

Utterly bewildered, Nessiah turned towards Gulcasa himself, who held Flamma Imperia steady and narrowed his eyes at it until the fires it held died down. "I-is… this true?"

Resting the blade of the scythe in the grass, Gulcasa just shrugged and smiled. "I suppose. When I don't have anything better to do, I may as well practice—the better I get with this thing, the better I can protect you."

Nessiah put a hand to his chest—his heart had begun to beat very fast. "Wh-what are you talking about? Gulcasa—"

"For somebody so smart, you sure can be dense," he drawled. "Nessiah, don't you get it? We're in this for you as much as we are for ourselves. We're your partners—we swore we'd protect you with whatever powers we have in us. And all of us take that promise very seriously."

Unable to speak, Nessiah whirled around to Kylier, then looked at Yggdra, and Roswell, and Elena. Each of them nodded to him, all of them wearing placid smiles.

"You all… I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you…" Nessiah managed at last, looking away from them out across the open fields.

"Then don't say anything, and let us get back to work," Gulcasa suggested, which made the others laugh.

"Go on, then."

The six of them had left the castle for the open, unsettled plain to its southwest. The city of Paltina was clearly visible in the distance, little more than twenty minutes' walk away. It was getting difficult to use the castle's practice courts to train nowadays, as Durant and Cruz were surreptitiously getting groups of soldiers in there to do group exercises and drills. And as things were, Gulcasa and Elena in particular needed open areas and a distinct lack of crowds to ensure that no one would get caught in their Artifacts' crossfires, so to speak.

Yggdra had been the one to suggest this place. It was and had always been Fantasinian territory and not a part of Orlando, and it was beyond where farmers on the outskirts of the city and nearby villages let their herds of animals go graze; people rarely came here. Looking around, Gulcasa had mentioned that this was where he'd started stationing his men as outposts and sentries while he and Nessiah had guarded the gates of Paltina in the war. Nessiah, who'd been remembering that himself, promptly deemed it the perfect place for a little practice.

Although she'd initially shown great promise with her copy of the Gran Centurio, Yggdra was now struggling with looking any further than a person's state of mind and an impression of their current thoughts. She'd sit with the sword and gnaw on her lip for minutes on end, then shake her head pathetically and almost tearfully. What really got to Nessiah was the fact that he was dead sure she could do it if she really wanted to—she still seemed to feel as though it was too much of a violation, even when she was _invited _to peek into someone's head.

At least the others were making progress. Now that they'd determined that Kylier could find just about anything so long as she intimately knew what it was she was looking for, person or inanimate object, Nessiah had her searching for more abstract things. She was scowling intently into her mirror even now—Nessiah had asked her to locate the pair of earrings he'd made Mistel, which she'd never seen before. He hadn't described them to her, only suggested that she concentrate on "belongs to Mistel" and "made by Nessiah" in her search. If she proved adept at this as well, Nessiah was planning on having her scry the past soon. He already knew that the Speculum Verus was useless in looking towards the future, but he was curious as to whether or not it could look at things that had already happened.

Roswell was currently sending off periodic bursts of the Sagitta Magica spell, drawing only on Crux Lucis' power and not his own. He was generating magical arrows by the hundreds, sending them streaming straight up into the air at a barrier Nessiah had placed there and bursting like deep violet fireworks. From what Nessiah could tell, he hadn't hit anywhere near the Ankh's limits yet.

Inspired, Nessiah reached out to poke Roswell in the shoulder. When the necromancer turned, a question in his eyes, Nessiah nodded. "I've no doubt you could call thousands in the dark series without taxing yourself or your Artifact—why not try some of the other elements? Start with ice, you've worked with that before, and work your way around to light—you told me you've never been able to get more than seven of that."

"There's an idea," Roswell agreed, then turned his face back up to the sky, settling the fingers of his left hand over the length of his Ankh and pointing at Nessiah's barrier with his right hand. "Sagitta Magica, Series Glacialis!"

Pale blue starbursts joined the lingering violet ones in the air.

_The children of the city must be enjoying this, _Nessiah thought, and smiled. He'd set his barrier high; the explosions of light and magic where Roswell's spells hit it would probably be visible for miles around.

And as for Elena… Nessiah turned to watch the assassin as she rocked gently to the time of the soft tune she played on her panpipe.

It was just an ordinary panpipe—she hadn't called her Artifact at all since they'd come out here. She'd admitted to Nessiah that even after a few days' training with Zilva, she hadn't quite gotten her real Artifact, the Cantus Fatale, completely under her control. Nessiah wasn't very concerned about it—as long as she worked at it every day with her proper teacher, he was sure she would master it soon. And since using the Artifact _did _depend on her mundane musical ability, she might as well become sure of her fingers and her breathing while she was out here.

"What about you, Nessa?" Gulcasa asked, coming to sit next to him on the low stone wall that curved through the grasses of the field. "Aren't you going to be releasing your spell?"

Nessiah just shook his head and smiled. "I already know how it works, thank you, and… while it may be selfish of me, I just can't bear to spend my hour and five minutes earthbound yet. Besides, I'm enjoying watching you all."

"Hour and… five minutes?" Gulcasa blinked. "You mean, the time limit has already started extending? It hasn't been very long since you and Roswell made your contract."

"I've still been using it every day, so I've been making progress." Struck by the sudden urge to lean into Gulcasa's side, Nessiah gripped the edges of the stone he sat on, unable to help angling his body towards his friend's anyway. "A little like you, I suppose."

"…That's good," Gulcasa replied, and smiled.

_Will you _stop doing that? _Gods… _Nessiah thought miserably. _Every time you look at me like that… these tangled emotions just keep getting stronger… until I don't know if I can contain them anymore…_

With a sigh, he looked back over the field, trying to find something to distract him. And frowned in confusion when Elena straightened up, her distant gaze suddenly focusing on the horizon as she began to lower her flute from her lips.

"Elena? Is something the matter?" Gulcasa asked, standing—he'd seen it too.

"…I think… someone's coming…" she replied, her brow creasing slightly.

"I don't hear anything," Yggdra said, although she murmured _"Abeat" _and slipped her pactio card away, back into the folds of her dress.

Kylier also put her Artifact away, following Elena's line of sight.

"…There's definitely someone here," Gulcasa murmured, all the warmth vanishing from his face as the cold mask of Imperial authority hardened his features. "We _know _you're there, even if we can't see you," he said in a harsh tone that brooked absolutely no argument. "It's pointless to keep hiding. Show yourselves, now."

Nessiah realized suddenly that Gulcasa and Elena were right. He couldn't sense any human magic anywhere, and couldn't feel the presence of living things the way that they could, but it was just too quiet out here all of a sudden—there'd been birds in the distance, completely undisturbed by their rather noisy and flashy actions, but those animals were gone now. They'd been spooked, or felt threatened.

Roswell and Kylier must have noticed that, too, because their expressions went grim, and they moved swiftly to stand protectively in front of Yggdra, shielding her.

Elena said nothing, but her empty hand moved from her side to the knife sheathed at the back of her belt.

From somewhere deep within the long grass came the dark sound of male laughter.

"We were hoping to catch you unawares—this is supposed to be a _surprise _gift, after all. Ah, well. At least you made your position so obvious that even a _child _could've tracked you down with all that pretty magic you've been playing with. Our thanks. At any rate—the lords of Shorehold send you their regards, _Your Majesty."_

There was a snap, and then the sharp whistle of something flying through the air.

_"Get down!" _Gulcasa shouted, grabbing Nessiah by the shoulder and pushing him so that his chest was flat to his thighs. When the pressure of Gulcasa's hand vanished, Nessiah glanced up at him to see that his shoulder had sprouted a black-quarreled arrow, and that he'd recoiled from the force of the blow.

"Gulcasa…" he breathed, his chest suddenly tight.

Roswell was back up quickly, his gloved hand tight over his Ankh. _"Reflexio!"_

The next arrows bounced harmlessly off the shield of ice and air Roswell had conjured, and Nessiah got to his feet, reaching towards Gulcasa with shaking hands.

Ashen with pain, Gulcasa gripped the arrow's shaft furiously in his left hand, snapping it quickly and prying the arrowhead loose, ignoring the cuts its sharp edges opened in his fingers. Though most of the soldiers Nessiah had known would have been screaming, Gulcasa never made a sound, and only hissed as he pulled off the clasp holding the bandages on his right forearm closed. Ripping the linen off rather than unwinding it, he bound it tightly over the wound, tying it tightly. Blood soaked through the pale cloth in moments, but Gulcasa didn't seem to register that—his face was tight with rage, his eyes blazing.

_"Get out here, you cowards!" _he roared, and even Nessiah flinched at the mad fury in his words. Despite the layer of linen covering his throat, the cords in it were clearly standing out.

Men dressed in dark earth colors slid from the shadows of trees and rose from the grass into the open, brandishing crossbows, broadswords, and axes.

"Mercenaries…?" Nessiah wondered aloud, but he wasn't given any time to ponder it—no sooner had the attackers shown themselves than Gulcasa threw himself bodily at them, Flamma Imperia snapping into blazing life as he did.

Elena drew her knife and Kylier doubled her fists while Nessiah and Roswell readied spells, but Gulcasa hit the attackers with so much ferocity that they could well have just sat and watched. There were fifteen men in the squad Shorehold had sent, and five of them were missing extremities before Nessiah could so much as decide what he wanted to cast. The sixth had leaped back to avoid the blade of Gulcasa's scythe, but its fires had still caught him, and he slapped at his clothes in a panic as they began to burn.

One of the men—out of bravery or foolhardiness, Nessiah could never be sure—lashed out with his sword while Gulcasa whirled to deal with his compatriots, catching the Emperor along his side. Blood flew in an arc from the wound as it opened, spraying across the grass—and everywhere the deep red droplets hit, the grass sprang into flame.

Realizing too late, Nessiah ran forward. "Gulcasa, _no! _You—you men, get back, get out of here _now _if you value your lives! You don't know what you're up against…! Gulcasa, get a hold of yourself! Stop attacking _now!"_

But he'd spoken too late. Gulcasa's eyes burned blank, mad gold, the shadows that were always beneath them deepening. There was a vicious pulse through the air, and Gulcasa's hair began to fly back as though caught in a violent wind; fire erupted around his body in shades of lurid, unnatural scarlet. All the grass within three feet of him was reduced to ash.

The Shorehold would-be assassins were not entirely stupid—Gulcasa radiated waves of raw power now, and they knew what stood before them was too much for them to handle. They scattered and tried to flee, but Gulcasa raised his head and gave chase.

Nessiah gritted his teeth and held out both hands. "Septentriginta spiritus aerialis, convergentis sagittent inimicum! Sagitta Magica, aer capturae!"

Thirty-seven magic arrows would be considered complete overkill for anything else, but—Nessiah wasn't sure if even this would work. And sure enough, sensing the wave of power intended to bind him, Gulcasa whirled and sliced straight through the bolts of wind headed for him, cutting Nessiah's magic dead.

Nessiah swore as Roswell tried the same spell with a hundred and ninety-nine arrows, which had no more effect than Nessiah's initial attempt.

Gulcasa just swatted the magic away, his lip curled in a derisive sneer.

"Everyone, get back—as far away as you can!" Nessiah called, speaking both to his own partners and to those attackers who remained.

What were they supposed to do _now? _This was what he and Gulcasa were supposed to have gone to all this trouble to _prevent _from happening—and even at full magical strength, Nessiah wasn't entirely sure he could hold off Gulcasa in his current state for long. Unless he aimed to kill, there was no possible way he would be able to manage it—and there was no way he could bring himself to do that.

He hadn't been at the final battle in Castle Bronquia himself, but he knew well what had happened. It had taken the entire Royal Army to subdue Brongaa then, and even _after _that, Yggdra had had to appeal to Gulcasa for some time before the near-mortal wounds he'd suffered caused him enough blood loss to make him lose consciousness. There was no way that five people—four, since Yggdra could no longer fight—would be able to do the same.

There had to be some other way…

"Elena—your Artifact?" Nessiah demanded.

Elena went white. "I _can't—_if I make a mistake, I could easily _kill _His Majesty, even now—we can't _risk _that!"

"Damn it, this is no good…" Still edging back, Nessiah shook his head. "What is there to do now? What _can _we do…?"

Gulcasa suddenly turned, narrowing his eyes as he stared to his right. One of the retreating men had tripped and fallen, and Brongaa recognized him as more interesting and easier prey, stalking in long prowling steps in his direction. The grass sizzled into nothingness in a wave before him as he walked, like some obscene parody of a sea parting for a prophet.

_"Gulcasa!"_

He stopped where he stood, swiveling back around. Nessiah watched unbelieving as Yggdra tore out across the grass towards him.

"Gulcasa, you _can't _do this! You can't let him _do _this to you!" she cried, coming to a halt as near to him as his crushing aura would allow her. "I _know _you're still in there somewhere—don't just let yourself get brushed aside, you have to _fight! _Don't let him do what he wants with you!"

Gulcasa's flat gold eyes narrowed, and he drew back his scythe as if to strike her down.

Yggdra just lifted her chin and stared him down. "The Emperor of Bronquia never surrenders, isn't that right?" she demanded. "Power with compassion is the mandate to rule as much as your blood, isn't it?! You have the throne because you're the strongest, right?! Gulcasa, there's a _reason _you're the Emperor and Brongaa isn't! _Fight!"_

"She's crazy," Kylier whispered. "He's gonna kill her for sure…"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Roswell said suddenly. "Look…"

Gulcasa swung his scythe, but his arm jerked to a stop barely a second later, trembling hard as though the air were a solid wall he was pushing against. Try as he might, he couldn't move it any further without it getting yanked back again.

_"He's fighting back," _Roswell went on needlessly.

Nessiah just stood there frozen, his heart in his throat, as the last of the mercenaries scurried away and Gulcasa and Yggdra faced each other down, the Emperor an unwilling and apparently struggling prisoner in his own body again and the Queen glaring at him out of the furious belief that he could free himself.

"I'm not giving up on you," Yggdra said softly.

For a moment it seemed as though Gulcasa actually would win out over Brongaa—but only for a moment. The mad sneer returned to his face as he swung his scythe back again, as if he was certain that this time the blow would land—

"Damn it—_Adeat!"_

Nessiah would never know how he was able to move as fast as he did, just that the world seemed to blur around him and that then he was standing between Gulcasa and Yggdra, wings and arms spread in defiance.

"If you're going to try to kill the girl you love, then you're going to have to get through me to do it," he shouted.

Flamma Imperia fell from Gulcasa's hand to clatter on the bald scorched ground, its fires extinguished.

As Nessiah stood there with his blood pounding so loud he could barely think, stubbornly shielding Yggdra, Gulcasa's face contorted with something like shock and refusal and irritation run together, and tremors began to run all over his body. He closed his eyes and began to shake his head slowly, his brow drawing down fiercely.

Slowly—achingly, horribly slowly—the crushing aura of power that enveloped Gulcasa began to waver.

Nessiah just waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

After what seemed like years, the fire haloing Gulcasa flickered lower and lower until it had disappeared completely, and his hair fell as flat as it ever did, his arm coming to rest at his side. He stood there for a while longer, fiercely braced with his eyes closed, then shuddered. His body lost its tension, and his chest began to heave.

When the silence had become all but unbearable, he opened his eyes.

They were Gulcasa's eyes again—gold iris, slitted pupil, unfocused and rather bloodshot but remotely human once more. And Nessiah sighed and let his wings come to a rest at his back.

"You…" Gulcasa said hoarsely, turning to stare almost dispassionately at Nessiah—and at Yggdra, who still strained to peek around his shoulder. "You two… are such… _idiots…"_

He made as if to step forward, stumbled, and dropped heavily to the ground, landing in an ungainly sprawl across the dirt.

Nessiah was there at his side instantly, Yggdra beside him half a heartbeat later.

Gulcasa was unconscious—exhaustion, probably; bright beads of sweat stood out on his face and arms, and the arrow wound on his shoulder had bled through its tight layer of bandaging. Scarlet ribbons of blood trailed down the contours of his arm, almost obscuring the deep crosshatching of old but angry scars that covered his forearm from wrist to elbow. Nessiah brushed his fingertips lightly over Gulcasa's hair, letting them rest at the side of his throat—his pulse was racing unevenly, and his skin was scalding to the touch, as though he were feverish.

"Sis mea pars," he whispered. There wasn't much else he could do but this—offer a continuous stream of his magic, pared down only to bolster Gulcasa's defenses and to make sure he didn't need to use any of his own energy, until Brongaa was safely under control.

"Holy _shit," _Kylier was saying behind them. "I knew you two were nuts, but I never knew _how _nuts until now. I think you scared twenty years off my lifespan right there. I'm gonna wake up with gray hairs tomorrow because of this. _Cripes."_

"Is he alright?" Roswell's voice was a bit closer, and more concerned.

"He seems fine," Nessiah answered wearily. "I'm giving him my power for now so we won't have to deal with more of this nonsense when he wakes—" _This nonsense _meant everything from Brongaa in possession of Gulcasa's body to how unstable Gulcasa could get when Brongaa was clamoring for control of his body to the results of that instability. "We just have to get him back to the castle for now, to rest…"

"I think…" Elena ventured distantly. "I think… that's something we _all _might be able to use, after this…"

Nessiah didn't reply; he just continued to stare down at Gulcasa.

_How close did we come…? How close did all this come to ending, because of a few moments of carelessness…?_

_How close did I come to losing him completely, because I forgot how severe Brongaa's threat could be?_

_Gods, I don't want to think about it anymore…_

**(tsuzuku)**


	16. Illuminance

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"I don't think the blame for this can be put on any individual one of us," Nessiah said exhaustedly, slumped against the high back of his chair. "Rather, fault is part and parcel with each of us in this situation."

Yggdra understood how drained he was—he looked as weary as she felt, as though facing down Brongaa wearing Gulcasa's body had taken every bit of strength they had. And beyond that, he'd actually canceled his restorative spell once they'd managed to get Gulcasa back to the castle and into his bed. His normally pale face was now a sickly shade of gray, and while the rest of them sipped listlessly at their tea, he just held his cup wrapped in both hands as though he didn't quite know what he was supposed to do with it.

Raising her own cup to her lips, she breathed in the weak wisps of steam still rising from the dark liquid. She paused before drinking, looking around the small circular table; Kylier, Roswell, and Elena were seated along its curve, as well. Each of them displayed varying degrees of worry and tiredness—Kylier had planted her elbows on the tabletop and rested her face along her crossed arms, Roswell was watching Nessiah with concern, and Elena sat staring tensely and resolutely into her nearly-untouched tea.

"Even with everything that's happened… we shouldn't have forgotten just how difficult it's been for Gulcasa just to maintain control of his own body every day. He's managed remarkably well so far, so we've begun to take it for granted that he always will… we should have known better," Nessiah went on at length. "He's a strong person, but this has been wearing on him…

"It's not just our fault, either. He should have known better than to let his anger control him and just go haring off like that, but… well, we can't change that he did. We just can't let this happen again…"

"Is all this really necessary?" Elena asked softly. "Using such powerful spells on His Majesty… it just seems a little…"

"I'm afraid so," Roswell told her. "If Gulcasa wakes up anytime soon, before he has Brongaa fully under control again…" He let the sentence hang. "It's a kindness, even if it doesn't seem like it, that we're keeping him asleep until tomorrow. Nessiah and I would have to get Rosary and Pamela, and the four of us would have to use real spells of binding on him, if we wanted him awake. Call me crazy, but I doubt he'd like that very much."

"This just sucks all over," Kylier proclaimed, making a face. "Isn't there any way to permanently bind Brongaa again, like they did originally way back when? Is he gonna have to live with this crap for the rest of his life?"

Nessiah bowed his head. "We could always try to remove Brongaa's soul from Gulcasa's body to place it under spelled guard, the way it was in Galleon Prison… but the process would be torturous. It might kill him. And… even if it were successful, we would make it possible for the same thing to happen to someone else in the future. We can't risk that." He hesitated before adding, "I've tried to come up with a spell to permanently bind Brongaa's soul _within _Gulcasa, but… I've yet to find anything that would really work."

Yggdra set her teacup in its saucer and turned, looking over to the other side of the room.

It always felt a bit strange when she saw Gulcasa in bed like this. He always gave such an impression of health, of strength—Yggdra just couldn't accustom herself to seeing him in moments of weakness like this. Even the fact that he lay still with one hand on the covers was wrong; she'd never seen him sleep in anything other than a sprawl, and she'd seen him asleep a lot during her period of imprisonment, back in the middle of the war. He was so pale, the shadows under his eyes standing out like bruises against his waxen skin; the bandage over his wounded shoulder was horribly splotched with blood.

And his _scars—_after all the time Gulcasa had spent meticulously covering them up, Yggdra had forgotten how bad they were. But before they'd gotten him into bed, his bodyguards had undone the strips of linen wound about his throat and his other arm, baring them for the world to see.

Pallid as he was, the jagged slashes crisscrossed up and down the length of his forearms and along both sides of his throat, intersecting over his larynx, stood out dark and ugly—for all the world as if they were freshly healed, and not months old. Not as obvious but no less terrible were the small oval burn marks in his arms, little scars from where he'd been injected over and over with powerful sedatives. His recovery from the battle for Castle Bronquia had been little more than a battle in and of itself.

Though thwarted by the destruction of the abyssal altar, Brongaa had still wanted _out _of Gulcasa's body, and had burned up the rest of the energy he had and most of Gulcasa's trying to find a way out. Unable to fight his ancestor's will and seeking an end to the agony of that near-constant half-possession—not to mention the despair and self-loathing of abject defeat—Gulcasa had done the only thing he could at that time. Every time he'd come awake, he'd tried to kill himself, opening a new deep wound in hopes that his blood and his life would drain away.

Yggdra and the doctors and healers they'd had there had fought him, pulling him back from the edge every time, but they'd nearly lost him over and over for more than a month. Even now, Yggdra could look at his scars and remember each incident. That one, the longest and most jagged down his right arm, was the oldest—he'd put his arm through a glass mirror then. That one had nearly severed his carotid artery. That one had been made with a doctor's scalpel, left on a tray near his room; that one had been made with a rusty scrap of metal, as had those three others—he'd cut into his chest with it but hadn't been able to slip it through his ribs. He'd gotten very sick then, and had nearly died. And those three—the darkest still on his arm—those had been fresh when Yggdra had finally gone to talk to him, to tell him that Emilia was going to survive.

He'd been awake and had waited for her to pull back the curtains on his bed, then had grabbed hold of her with that arm and choked her as if he wanted to snap her spine. He'd actually been trying to break those cuts open again, but when they _had _split, the blood had been absorbed by his bandages and had clotted over while they'd argued. By the time she'd finally reached him, they were closed again.

All this—every little cut, every desperate and half-crazed attempt at suicide—it was just another reminder of what Brongaa had done to him, another accusation towards Yggdra and all the others: They should have known, they should have foreseen, they could have prevented. And if they had, Gulcasa wouldn't be so hurt now, lying there so weak and so wrong in that bed, incapable of waking until the morrow came.

"Yggdra…" Roswell's voice snapped her out of her cycle of misery, and she turned guiltily back towards the others' circle. "We owe you and Nessiah a great deal of thanks. If you hadn't gotten out there and endangered yourself like you had, Gulcasa wouldn't have been able to fight his way back into control. It was reckless, it was foolhardy, and it saved him."

She shook her head. "Nessiah was the one who saved him—not me."

"If you hadn't stopped him there, I wouldn't have been able to join you," Nessiah said softly. "I don't think I could've brought myself to do what you did. It was unbelievably brave… and it was smart. To goad Gulcasa into action by deliberately endangering yourself… he loves you; he couldn't allow harm to come to you. It was… one of the most courageous things I've ever seen." He smiled, but his expression seemed pained all the same.

Kylier also seemed to notice this, because she sat up and frowned. "Nessiah…"

Roswell was also looking at him. "Nessiah, I think we need to have a little talk."

"Nessiah-dono—all of us," Elena put in. "Because I—I don't think you'll believe it, if you don't hear it from every one of us."

"What are you talking about?" The pained smile vanished, a rather annoyed scowl taking its place. "We can't—I don't want to leave here. Gulcasa is my friend; I want to stay here with Yggdra, and make sure nothing happens. If Brongaa breaks through our sleep spell—"

"He won't," Roswell said patiently. "You're the one who first told us that possession like that eats up all the energy Gulcasa has stored away, and that fighting for control burns through _both _of their power. Now, come along—if Yggdra is here to watch him, you don't need to worry."

"I suppose, but—"

"Yggdra, would _you _mind staying here to watch him?" Kylier interrupted.

She blinked. "N-no, I—"

"See? Thanks. We'll be back in a bit." And with that, Kylier stood, grabbed Nessiah's shoulder, and marched him outside. Roswell and Elena got up and bowed themselves out, as well.

"…What was that about…?" Yggdra murmured aloud after they'd left.

"Beats me," one of Gulcasa's bodyguards announced—it was the first time he'd spoken since the two of them had taken up positions on either side of his bed.

"There's probably something they want to yell at him about—don't worry about it," the other one put in.

"…I see…" She didn't, but it wasn't really any of her business.

"You don't really have to stay here, either—it's easy to tell it's upsetting you," the first of Gulcasa's guards told her. "His Majesty wouldn't like that, you know."

Yggdra shook her head with a bitter smile. "…I wouldn't know what to do with myself… I don't feel up to dealing with the court today, not after this…"

"We still don't like seeing you moping around like this," the man said, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that looked very much like Gulcasa's. "If you don't want to just wander the halls, then would you do His Majesty a favor instead? We can't go far from here while he's like this, so we can't take care of Bella. She'll be tearing holes in the walls soon, and aside from us, you're likely the only one here she'll behave for. We took care of our dragons before this, so she's the only one you'll need to see to."

It was something to do—something other than staring at Gulcasa helplessly—so Yggdra latched onto it quickly. "I wouldn't mind. I just need to take her outside and let her work off some energy, right? The hostlers are supposed to take care of feeding…"

Gulcasa's guards exchanged eyerolls and shook their heads in unison.

"Because tossing a steak into the pens is really all those cowards have the stones to handle."

"…And because that's all we _trust _them to handle. Though even that's a near thing."

Yggdra couldn't help it—she giggled.

"Go on, now. His Majesty'll still be here when you get back."

From someone else, Yggdra might have worried at those words. But these two men—she'd gotten to know them a little as an Imperial prisoner, and gotten to know them a lot more after the end of the war. They were at least as devoted to Gulcasa as her soldiers were to her; if they were around to protect him, those who wished him ill wouldn't even be able to touch him over the guards' dead bodies. So she smiled, nodded to both of them, and excused herself from the room.

She still didn't like that she would be separated from him, but—it was probably better that she had a task to carry out now, a duty she could see to. Because of this incident, all the court meetings scheduled for the afternoon had been suspended until everyone was sure Gulcasa would be alright. Durant had made the call, apparently out of the consideration that Yggdra would not want to deal with the fussy conservatives while in this mood, but she would honestly have preferred even _that _to sitting around doing nothing.

At least playing with Gulcasa's dragon mount would be a little enjoyable.

Stretching as she walked down the hall, Yggdra caught the sounds of voices in the corridor ahead and slowed her steps. She didn't want to intrude on someone else's private conversation; perhaps she should try another passage to the stables or wait until they were done talking…

"I honestly thought I'd never have to tell _you_ this, but you've been doing the exact frigging routine Milanor did at his most blockheaded." Kylier's voice rang clear and irritable through the arched stone hallway; Yggdra's eyes widened a little as she ducked around a corner, not wanting them to see her. "No matter _how _obvious I got, he never even noticed I liked him—it was like he had a pair of blinders permanently attached to his head. You—you're so damn convinced that it can never happen, even though you're twice as stupidly in love as I ever was, and you're missing everything that's right under your nose."

"Either kindly explain or let me get back to Gulcasa's room," Nessiah replied in a clipped snap. "I have no time for this, and I don't see what you're trying to say."

"'Course you don't. I've been telling you all this time that your feelings aren't nearly as one-sided as you think, and now there's proof."

"Proof? _What _proof? I haven't seen—"

"The incident earlier today is what we mean, Nessiah," Roswell said gently.

Yggdra frowned and leaned closer against the wall. She wasn't quite sure what they were talking about, but she _had _gotten loud and clear the implication that Nessiah seemed to have fallen in love with someone who wasn't aware of it. She never would have guessed—he'd never seemed overly affectionate towards any of the castle women, and she wasn't aware of anything much happening with him today before the fiasco of the ill-fated training session.

"What are you—no, he hasn't shown any signs of—"

_He? _Yggdra thought, confused. There was someone else involved?

Then she remembered the day she and the others had been kidnapped from the hot springs, and the conversation she'd had with Kylier—when Kylier had told her that _Nessiah isn't interested in girls. _Were they speaking of a _man? _Nessiah—was like Zilva and Elena, then? Yggdra blushed a little and covered the light, nervous giggle that wanted to start. She'd never even imagined the possibility.

"It was _Yggdra _that he pulled himself back to save," Nessiah went on, sounding furious and defensive. "I still don't see—"

"When Yggdra endangered herself to save him," Roswell interrupted, his voice going even gentler, "Gulcasa tried very hard to regain control from Brongaa, it's true. But he wasn't able to work up the strength to stop himself then, remember?"

"Yggdra was never exactly removed from danger," Nessiah said stiffly, "and she's the one he has feelings for, as we _all _are very well aware."

"But if she wasn't enough impetus then, why would she have been enough impetus when you threw yourself between them?" Elena's soft, shy voice was pleading and insistent. "Surely you have to have guessed that—"

"No." Nessiah's voice was thick with pain as he cut her off. "You can't possibly—"

"Ness, stop being such a moron and put two and two together. And you think you're such a frigging supergenius… Gulcasa tried hauling himself back for Yggdra, since he's got a thing for her. When it was _you _in Brongaa's way, he flipped out—he was able to find the strength not to hurt _you._

"Maybe you're right and Yggdra was still part of it. But Gulcasa wasn't trying half hard enough to stop Brongaa the first time, so thinking of it that simply, his feelings for you are at least as strong as they are for her. Get it?"

"No—that—"

"Nobody ever disagreed with you that he likes Yggdra, stupid. But you're going to have to accept it now—he likes you, too. He hasn't figured it out any more than you have. But he _loves _you, Ness. End of story."

For a moment, the wall Yggdra was leaning against seemed to lose a little of its solidity as numb shock slid through her mind and her knees went weak. She couldn't quite string her thoughts together in any coherent fashion—Kylier's words just kept echoing inside her head, and she could only see that they made an awful kind of sense.

How could she have been so stupid, so blind? How could she not have seen it, not have guessed? After all this time she'd spent with Gulcasa—with Nessiah—and she'd never, never once suspected—

Good _God, _but she'd been such a fool. She didn't even have the excuse of Nessiah's ruined eyes, yet she'd been blinder than he ever was.

"I-I… I—you—just _leave me alone!"_

Yggdra glanced up automatically as Nessiah tore down the hall in a clatter of chains and wide, ringing steps. He didn't even notice her as he went past.

"…That went well," Kylier muttered sarcastically.

"Give him time," Roswell told her, resignation in his voice. "He convinced himself so thoroughly that it could never happen, and he's feared the possibility as much as he's wanted it. This must have come as a terrible shock to him."

"Why is it… that love always seems to cause people so much pain?" Elena ventured, her quiet voice wistful and sad.

"I don't think any of us have the wisdom to answer that," was Roswell's reply. "I doubt that anyone in this world or the next ever could."

--

Even hours later, after she'd finally remembered to see to Bella and watched the red dragon run up and down the fields like a hyperactive puppy, Yggdra felt no better about what she'd overheard. Her mind was still reeling with it; she didn't know what to say or do or think next.

It was the eavesdropper's curse, she thought bleakly, sinking into the surface of the bench and drawing her knees up to her chest. Sometimes you just heard things you didn't want to, and you could never unhear them.

Nessiah had regained his composure by now, she saw, and was discussing the contents of a book with Russell towards the edge of the garden path. It was only because she'd seen him running, heard his frantic protests, that Yggdra was able to tell that his smile was unusually fragile today.

He'd always been so _supportive _of her and Gulcasa—what had he been hiding, holding back while he'd smirked and prodded them towards each other? Why was he so reluctant to try his hand on winning Gulcasa for himself? For surely he was reluctant—there'd been true pain, true fear in his voice when Kylier and Roswell and Elena had delivered their observations to him. He was hurting over this, must have been hurting over it for so long, and yet he'd hidden it from her and from Gulcasa all the while…

As Yggdra watched from the bench, Nessiah parted company from Russell and wandered further up the path towards her, not noticing her at all. As soon as he had his back to the swordsman, that frail false smile shattered, leaving him with a tired and worried look.

It was that look that spurred Yggdra to her decision—she couldn't just sit and watch him any more than she'd been able to help wanting to heal the wounded of the war. Before she could entertain second thoughts, she got up and trotted down the path towards him. "Nessiah?"

He flinched a little in surprise and turned towards her, obviously trying to gather some surety back so she wouldn't notice his true state of mind. "Yggdra? Is something wrong? You're supposed to be with Gulcasa—has something happened?"

"No—no, he's still perfectly fine." _If you can call someone in his condition "perfectly fine"…_ "Nothing's happened to him; you don't have to worry. His guards wanted me to go out and see to his Bella, so she wouldn't cause too much mayhem waiting to be paid attention to."

"Oh." Nessiah relaxed a little. "Oh—well, if that's all, shouldn't you be getting back? You should be with him at a time like this."

Yggdra just shook her head. "Actually—maybe you should sit in with him for a little while. He's important to you, too, and… well, I've realized just recently that I've been monopolizing him a bit lately." She managed this with a shrug and a smile, hoping that they covered the way her heart was pounding.

"What are you talking about? 'Monopolizing'…? I don't think anyone sees it like that—least of all Gulcasa himself—and even if it were like that, none of us would mind; now, go on and—"

"I'm sorry," Yggdra interrupted. "But I…" She took a deep breath, held it, released it. "Nessiah, I overheard your conversation with the others earlier… I know that you're also in love with Gulcasa."

Nessiah staggered back a pace, looking as though he'd been struck.

Yggdra stepped forward, reaching out gently to take his hands in hers. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" she asked, unable to hold back her sad smile. "He's not the only person I care about… _your _feelings matter to me, too…"

Nessiah shook his head. "No… I… Yggdra, you've got it all wrong…"

It just cut her straight to the heart to see him trembling, to hear the panicked note in his voice. "Nessiah, please, you don't need to hide it from me… just talk to me," she pleaded, advancing another step as he tried to retreat. "Nessiah…"

He tore his hands free, turned on his heel, and fled with a desperate cry of _"That's not it!"_

"Nessiah?!" Yggdra stood still and stared after him for a few moments, then gathered up her skirts and gave chase. "Nessiah, _wait!"_

"I _told _you, you've got it wrong!"

"Nessiah, _please, _you don't have to run away!" Yggdra called, panting. There were more people on this part of the path, and she found herself having to dodge around them—some leaped out of Nessiah's way, but a lot more just stood and stared. At least they were coming to the garden's edge—there wouldn't be so many people in the way then.

But as soon as Nessiah broke from the garden to the open field, he sank down with a half-wailed shout of _"Leave me alone!"_ and there was an ear-rending sound like glass exploding as his mismatched wings erupted from his back. He flung himself into the air, vanishing into the sky in a matter of heartbeats.

Yggdra stood still amidst the rain of black and white feathers, struck completely speechless. What was she supposed to do now? What _could _she do? The only option she was sure she didn't have was doing nothing.

--

"You were _listening _to us?!" Kylier yelped, her eyes so wide and round that their tawny irises looked dwarfed by the whites. "And then you went and _told _Ness that you heard? Man, what's been getting _into _you today, Yggdra? First jumping in front of crazy Brongaa and now this! Even though this whole thing's been going down the crap chute like nobody's business, I don't think anyone can _ever _say from here on out that you don't have balls."

"I-I don't really know why I did it, aside from thinking I couldn't just let him keep being so miserable," Yggdra said desperately, shaking her head. "But—but we have to think of something, or…"

She'd looked in his room, in the forges, and the castle library and hadn't found Nessiah anywhere; he probably knew better than to head anyplace she might think to look. So she'd gone to where Kylier and Roswell sat brooding over the necromancer's desk, told them what happened, and begged them for help.

"I don't think Nessiah would have headed to Gulcasa's room if he reacted that way," Roswell mused. "He released his restorative spell, right? Then he could be hiding out on any rooftop anywhere in the castle or the city. I bet he'll have taken to the heights knowing little will disturb him there… the problem with that is, if the spell expires and he's still up there, he'll be stuck there until tomorrow rolls around—and he could easily fall and injure himself before then."

"Lemme try and find him first—then we'll figure out how to get him down," Kylier proposed, and dug out her pactio card. "Adeat."

She scowled resolutely into her mirror, her expression getting more and more frustrated until she shook her head. "The hell? I can't get anything! I've been able to find him before, so what's with all this crappy reception? It's like he's trying not to be found or something!"

Roswell nodded. "Nessiah's aware of your powers, so I'm sure he must have put up anti-scrying shields as soon as he found an out-of-the-way place. I doubt we can find him by conventional means…"

Kylier swore vibrantly. "So what do we do? Try searching the hard way, or just leave him?"

Yggdra bit her lip and shook her head. "I'm going to start looking now," she told them, and left the room before either could protest.

Logically, she knew that there was next to no chance that she'd be able to find Nessiah in time to get him safely inside, but she had to try to find him nonetheless. He'd seemed in so much pain when he'd fled…

_What was going through your mind, Nessiah, while you watched me growing closer and closer to him? _She wondered it as she made her way down the hall, then up a spiraling flight of stairs. _I don't think I could bear it if someone else took Gulcasa away from me before I had much chance to act myself… What emotions were you struggling to hold back and hide?_

She came to a halt on the stairs as it hit her: Perhaps there _was _a way, but…

"It's… it's wrong, but…" Yggdra shook her head. "Nessiah…"

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her pactio card and released her Artifact.

Sitting down on the top step, she wrapped both hands around her sword's hilt and closed her eyes, reaching out towards Nessiah with her mind and its power. She didn't want to intrude, but she had to understand—she had to do whatever she could to understand just what it was he was going through.

She felt the connection take hold—a strange prickling sensation in her shoulders and then down her back. She frowned, strained to listen, and then winced.

There weren't words. There weren't images. But it was exactly the same as the night on Ancardia, the night she'd first brushed souls with the secretive angel. A low keening rang in her ears, the kind of sound a wounded animal might make, broken by sobs that sounded like a child's. It was all muddled up with a kind of tangled grief and fear and love so overwhelming it was painful.

Yggdra shivered a little at the intensity of those feelings—the deaths of her parents had been a heavy weight on her chest that had leeched all the brightness from life, but even in the darkest moments of her grief and self-blame, she'd never felt like this. She knew the kind of love that made your chest ache; she'd felt it a little with Roswell and quite a bit with Gulcasa. But she never could have dreamed that emotions she was even a little bit familiar with could combine to create this kind of ripping-at-the-soul pain.

It felt like the source was close by.

Her breath catching, her heart jumping, Yggdra opened her eyes and scampered up the next segment of stairs, running until she felt faint. She was breathless by the time she reached the top of the tower with its wide windows, and bracing herself against the wall, she leaned out of one and glanced back at the castle.

There. _There. _Nessiah sat huddled into a desolate little ball on the gentle slant of the roof of the inner wall, which connected this tower to another one. There wasn't any rampart or path between them—those were included on the city walls and the tower's outer defenses, but not here. The path wasn't meant to be crossed.

Yggdra might be able to get out there—maybe.

She put her Artifact away, stashing the card safely inside her clothes. Glancing back out at the tiles—they looked slippery—she kicked her slippers off, and hesitated only a moment before hiking up her heavy skirts and fighting her way out of her long black hose. There was no one out here to fuss over propriety, and anyway, Nessiah's safety was what was most important here. She didn't want to slip and fall while heading out to talk him down, either.

She hesitated a moment longer, then squared her shoulders and clambered carefully up onto the window ledge, gripping the rough brick and ivy and climbing along the wall up to the slatted roof. She was careful not to let her eyes stray downwards and felt with her bare toes for footholds before placing her weight on anything. Still, fear was a tight, writhing knot at the bottom of her belly, and her heart was racing—she _knew _how high up she was, and that knowledge made her feel lightheaded and giddy.

By the time she actually reached the roof, her palms were sweaty and a few strands of her hair were blowing free of her braids. Drawing a deep breath, Yggdra gathered her legs beneath her and leaned to her left, to the highest part of the slanted roof. Carefully, she picked her way from the tower to the roof of the connecting wall, gripping the tall peak as she crossed the height to where Nessiah was.

He sat curled tightly, knees to breast, with his shoulders hunched in protectively and his forehead rested between his kneecaps, his arms locked tightly around his legs. His wings were mantled in, the big pinion feathers dragging out across the tiles.

"Nessiah…?"

He glanced up at her when he heard her voice, and she winced a little. She still hadn't quite gotten used to staring into eyes that looked exactly like hers, and that aside, Nessiah's pale face was flushed red and tearstained.

Suppressing the urge to fidget—she might slip if she did—Yggdra made her way to his side and sat down carefully next to him, tucking her skirts around her legs. The tiles were just rough enough that she didn't slide towards the earth. "Nessiah, please… talk to me. I'm not mad. I won't get mad. I don't see who it hurts, that you care for Gulcasa. The only person who seems to be in pain over this is you, and I don't want you to hurt anymore. I want to hear it from you. You love him, don't you?"

Nessiah shuddered and covered his face with both hands.

_"Yes," _he managed, the sound almost strangled. "I… he… I can't even begin to—to try to explain—but he's always been so good to me, even though I've never deserved a moment of it…"

Yggdra looked at him for a moment, then drew her own knees up to her chest. "Why haven't you ever tried to win his heart yourself, then? I know that… your feelings are very strong, so… since he's so important to you, then why…"

"Because it would only cause us both pain, in the end," he told her, his voice muffled in his hands. "Even if, by some miracle… it just wouldn't last, so it shouldn't happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Because of _what I am, _don't you see?" Nessiah turned back towards her, and his eyes were drenched with pain. "For the rest of my existence, my time and my life will never move beyond this one suspended moment. I'll never age. I'll never grow old, and I can't die naturally. I've seen _so many people _just flicker out of existence in the passing of time since I came to this world—it's painful enough knowing that Gulcasa, that _all _of you, will be gone just like that in no time at all for me, without wanting any more from you than I already have. I won't be able to take it, I won't be able to go on, and I could never do that to him, never subject him to that kind of knowledge—"

"Nessiah…"

"And when he gets older, he's going to want things from life that I can't give him, do you understand? He'll want a family, he _needs _a family—gods, he's the Emperor, he has to have an heir—and I could never give him that. It wouldn't work. But he has you, he has a chance at being happy with _you, _so—so I—" Miserably, Nessiah shook his head. "But still—I can't—I can't stand this, the way _everyone _tells me I should just go ahead and try and ignore how I might hurt him, the way I _want _to go ahead and try even though I'll hurt him—I-I just… I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore…"

Yggdra couldn't help it—she smiled, and put her arms around him, pulling him against her shoulder. "I think I understand now… why it is that Kylier always smiles when she complains about how shortsighted you can be."

Nessiah blinked, confused.

"Silly—don't you see? Gulcasa is… I'm sure he's thought of all this already, and that he's taken into consideration the fact that he's going to go through some of this, just being your friend. We've _all _thought about it, and I can tell that we've underestimated a little how much it hurts you, and how much you must worry about it. You think about this a lot, don't you?"

Nessiah didn't answer, so she was sure he did—it probably kept him up at night sometimes.

"Don't you think you'd only be lonelier if you tried to pull away from us now? We want to give you lots of good memories of us, so that even when we're gone, you can remember that we cared about you and wanted you to be happy. That goes for friends, and for people you love." She hugged him a bit more closely. "You silly Nessiah—even if it meant more pain for you and less for us, I don't think anyone can ever really stand not being loved. Maybe—maybe if more people had let you in and loved you up until now, things would never have gotten this bad."

"But—I—"

"And, I think… I think Gulcasa deserves to make his own choices about this," Yggdra went on, acting as though she hadn't even heard his faint protest. "I've been thinking about it ever since I heard all of you, and so I'm fairly sure that Kylier and the others are right, and maybe Gulcasa might come to love you if you give him the chance. I like him a lot, and I think he likes me a lot too… but when we make our choices about who to love, shouldn't we know all there is to know about the people who love us so that we make the _right _choice? If we each have a chance to win his heart, then shouldn't we both try?"

"…I…"

Yggdra smiled at him. "For now… well, nobody has to decide these things right away. But come inside; the sun's going down soon and you'll catch cold if you're still out here. And if you stay out here much longer, you won't be able to get back in, will you?"

Nessiah's eyes widened, and he sat up, blushing slightly. Yggdra was sure he hadn't even considered that possibility.

With an effort, she offered him a slightly jittery smile. "Please… we don't have to do anything or be around people tonight, but I don't want to just leave you up here by yourself, and… I don't really like how high up this is…" Her voice wanted to go pitched and squeaky on the last words, but she valiantly fought it back.

Nessiah dropped his gaze. "I'm… sorry," he said, the words coming out soft and small.

Yggdra shook her head. "You don't need to apologize."

--

"When did you first _know?" _Yggdra asked, after a long silence. "…That you'd fallen for Gulcasa, I mean?"

She and Nessiah had managed to slip back into the castle, and Yggdra had gotten them just out of the bounds of the castle itself. The sun was almost finished setting, and the two of them lay side by side in the soft grass, staring up at the sky. Just after they'd gotten there, Nessiah's spell had run out, and he'd sunk to his knees in exhaustion, then flopped onto his back. Yggdra had sat down and let him be, knowing that there was a lot he needed to work to understand and that he needed to try to stabilize himself. They hadn't spoken all through the sunset—at least until Yggdra had been struck by the sudden inspiration to ask.

Nessiah had turned towards her questioningly—apparently confused as to why Yggdra would bring it up now.

"For me… looking back, I think when I first started to really care was… when we, the Royal Army, I mean—when we arrived at Castle Bronquia. I was so tired of all the fighting by then, and we'd already decided to ask him to surrender. The militia, the volunteer army… and all that fighting with Emilia… those things just left me with no more will to press forward, even though we had no other choice. I desperately wanted to convince him to lay down his arms so I wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. I asked him, and he refused…

"At first I thought he'd only done so out of pride, and I was angry, but… then I saw on his face and heard in his voice how emotional that decision was. He thought we'd killed his sister… he had no reason to believe us when we said we would spare his people, and would never destroy the spirit of Bronquia that way. His grief and his hatred and his love for his people… I really only started to understand them then." Yggdra smiled and shook her head, then pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart ache under her fingers. "It moved something in me then… I actually _felt _it… even if I didn't understand it.

"It's a little ironic, but… what really made me realize that I might be falling in love with him, even though I'd been slipping down that slope all that time? It was when we fought _you, _Nessiah." Yggdra remembered it vividly; all she had to do was close her eyes to see Gulcasa's face creased with emotion, not even realizing that there were heavy tears making their way down his cheeks. "Just seeing the way he cared so deeply for you, despite everything that had happened… I'd known what kind of person he was, but it was the kind of thing that goes straight to your heart. I wanted to help him bear his pains, and knew I wanted to trust him with my own. I'd never felt that way before, and I _knew. _I knew this was more than just ordinary affection."

Nessiah was silent for a while, long enough that Yggdra thought he wasn't going to answer her, but then he began to speak so softly she had to inch towards him to hear.

"When we were recovering Gulcasa's crown… he and I were trapped in a cave that had been cursed to block magic, and it destroyed the sight spells I had in place. I panicked, and he… he led me through sane and unharmed. I'm sure it took him more patience than any ten common men off the city streets have ever displayed—I was in a difficult state, and I know I was _being _very difficult to top it off. It's not the easiest thing to explain." Nessiah paused, then went on. "That's when I'm sure these feelings started. Like you, I didn't notice them for quite some time—I was getting used to the intrusions that come with friendly relationships for a while afterwards."

"So what happened when you _did _notice?" Yggdra asked.

"…It was… while we were driving out the Fantasinian occupation of—I think it was the village of Bardot, but it was one of the villages. We'd been fighting back-to-back, and he risked both our necks to save some civilian kids… but once we'd cleaned the enemy out, he was just—so happy, so _stupid, _going around making sure everyone was alright, and—" Nessiah thumped his fist against his chest. "I just felt—so much all at once, and I started to realize, and… _gods, _I was furious. Why this, and why did it have to be then of all times? I didn't want to be in love; I was supposed to be using Gulcasa and the Imperial Army at my earliest convenience to prod _you _into action. I tried to ignore it, I tried to deny it—and he would smile at me, and then I didn't know what I was supposed to do anymore."

Yggdra nodded, understanding. "The first time I saw him really smile… it made my chest jump a little, right here." She laid a hand over her heart. "He seems… so much younger, so much gentler and more approachable when he smiles, doesn't he? It changes him from the Emperor into a person." She sighed a little and reddened. "Don't you love his smile?"

"As much as I hated it then," Nessiah replied with a reluctant smile of his own. "I always… liked to watch him work with his hands. They're so much bigger than mine, and they're so rough, but… they're not blunt, they're gentle. I… I always used to be wary of men with heavy hands like that, but…"

"And his eyes…" Yggdra sighed again, resting a hand to her cheek.

Nessiah's smile grew a little more. "His stupid hair. It used to drive me crazy how he'd sleep on it and leave it so messy, but… you watch him, and you can't help but love him, can you?"

"No," Yggdra said, and she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "So… why should we try to help it? We can't change the way we feel, so… it wouldn't be fair to say that one or the other of us isn't allowed to try. Please. I don't want any of us to be miserable over this. We love him. It wouldn't be right for us both not to have a chance."

--

When the big double doors to the castle mess hall creaked open in the middle of breakfast the next day, all conversation halted immediately, and all eyes were riveted to the Emperor as he walked through them.

Everyone had heard, by now, what had happened to him—even if not all of them understood the meaning of it. And everyone was still a little bit shocked to see the pallor of his skin against his scarlet hair, the much-darker circles beneath his eyes. There was a low murmur through the room when those closest realized that where he'd always worn a strange layer of bandaging over his throat, he'd gone without it today—and there were dark livid scars branching over both sides of his neck.

There was a loud clatter from the head table as Yggdra dropped her utensils and stood, clapping both hands over her mouth, her eyes shining.

"You." Gulcasa nodded to her as he spoke softly; his eyes swept the room until he spotted Nessiah, who'd frozen where he sat. "And you. Come over here."

Yggdra didn't think twice before shoving her chair back and running towards him; Nessiah followed suit a little slower, so that they came to stand in front of him at about the same time.

Gulcasa's wild gold eyes were intense, his expression almost severe as he stared down at them levelly for several moments.

"You two… are idiots," he said at last. The words weren't harsh, but spoken with a soft force that carried them throughout the room regardless.

Yggdra couldn't speak. Beside her, Nessiah was also silent.

"Do you realize, do _either _of you realize what you were _risking _yesterday?" Gulcasa demanded, velvet fury and razor-lined concern and blank incredulity in his words. "You could have died, both of you—you could easily have been killed. It took _everything I had _to stop Brongaa from eviscerating you. It very nearly wasn't enough. I was lucky; you were lucky. Are you stupid, or just insane? Do you know what that kind of death would be like for you? If you had any sense at all, you would have run and kept running until I never could have reached you."

There were high spots of color in his cheeks now, and his eyes glittered.

"Just knowing that Brongaa would have harmed you if I hadn't been able to stop him is all but tearing my soul apart," he went on passionately, his voice beginning to shake. "Do you realize what that would have done to this country? To _my _country? To this world? To _me? _Knowing that he would have hurt you with my hands is making it impossible for me to live with myself, and if he'd killed you…"

Gulcasa shook his head, letting the sentence trail off and die. He narrowed his eyes slightly as they darkened almost imperceptibly, then he reached out and held both Yggdra and Nessiah hard to his chest, bowing his head.

"If he'd killed you, it would have destroyed me."

Yggdra rested her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes. He was shaking—he was deeply upset—but the meaning behind his words was sending a surging joy ripping through her chest.

"You two _fools—"_ To Yggdra's shock, Gulcasa's voice actually cracked, and he paused to steady himself for a moment before going on. "Why didn't you run? Why didn't you do the sensible thing and run? Damn you, do you have a death wish or something? What if this happens again? You can't do this to me a second time—if I can't fight back enough…"

"It's not going to happen again," Yggdra said softly, shifting a little so that she could slip her arm around his back, so that she could hold him tightly. "We're all going to be more careful; we're not going to forget again."

_"But if it does. _If this happens again, I want you to swear to me, right here and now, that you'll forget any ideas of heroics and get yourselves to safety. As long as I know you're safe and alive, I won't allow myself to go under completely; we can wait until Brongaa burns himself out."

"Gulcasa…" Yggdra looked up into his face; he'd closed his eyes and his brow had come down stubbornly. "We wouldn't be able to just leave you there, don't you know that?"

"Swear to me," he said again, as if he hadn't heard her.

Yggdra couldn't help but smile. "Gulcasa… well, then, I… if you can't fight Brongaa off, and it looks like he may use you to seriously harm me… then I will take myself out of danger unless I know for certain that there's something I can do to help you. You have my word."

Gulcasa shook his head, then opened his eyes and stared down at Nessiah. "Your oath," he said pointedly.

"I'm not making you any promises," was Nessiah's faint answer.

His voice was soft, but stubborn, and Yggdra was surprised to hear it warped with tears. As she watched from the curve of Gulcasa's arm, the fallen angel pushed a full step away and lifted his chin in a clear defiant gesture; his cheeks were quite visibly tearstained.

"Nessiah, _swear to me," _Gulcasa repeated, glowering.

_"No. _You forget—_I _can safely risk my so-called 'life'; I know I'll come back even if something destroys this body," Nessiah replied mulishly. "I refuse to abandon you if Brongaa's trying to control you, even if I don't have a definite plan. I—"

"And when will you come back, Nessiah?" Gulcasa interrupted furiously. "A week? A month? A year? Ten years? It depended on the Gran Centurio, was what you said before—and that sword has been sealed now. You can't use its powers anymore."

Nessiah fell silent, paling.

"Who's to say that if you're reborn at _all, _it won't be _centuries _from now?" Gulcasa demanded. "Who's to say you won't come back to a world where all the people who ever cared for you are already long dead? You have more to lose than you think, and even a mere month gone from this place is a month too many. The hands of time won't stop moving for us as they have for you. Every second that passes is a second that's never going to come back. When our lives are over, we won't be able to pass peacefully if we don't know that we've given you everything we can. We can't waste anything, and _you _can't go on taking idiotic risks!"

Nessiah had raised his hand and settled it over his lips, trembling now, fresh tears running freely down his face. Yggdra knew that he'd never even dreamed of a possibility like that, and that Gulcasa had a point—and she was sure that this would now be the threat that haunted Nessiah's every nightmare.

"You selfish bastard, I'm not going to let that happen to you," Gulcasa went on, and reached out to cup Nessiah's face in his free hand. "Isn't what we have already bad enough? I _will not _allow you to suffer that way, do you hear me? Not by my hands, not by _anyone's _hands—_now give me your oath, Nessiah!"_

"I promise…," Nessiah managed to choke out, the words barely more than a wavering sob.

"Honestly," Gulcasa growled under his breath. He let his hand drop to Nessiah's shoulder, and reeled him back in with surprising gentleness. "You two mean more to me than anyone in this world or any other, and I won't put you through this—if he gets past me again, I can't allow him to harm you. I can't allow _anything _to harm either one of you."

Yggdra couldn't speak, she was so happy; from Nessiah, all she heard was a thin whimper.

"…Shit." Gulcasa closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to Nessiah's. "I'm sorry I yelled. This just—seriously scares me half to death. Thinking I might hurt you, thinking I might lose you." He opened his eyes again, staring at Yggdra. _"Either _of you."

She just smiled at him, her vision blurring with tears. She wanted to say it now—she wanted to tell him she loved him, more than anyone or anything—but the words were tangled up in her chest, caught around her accelerating and expanding heart, her soaring emotions. She couldn't possibly get them out.

_"…Honestly." _But this time, he cracked a smile instead of a growl, and he pressed his lips to Nessiah's forehead, then brushed them against hers.

Yggdra would happily have sworn that she was floating there, no part of her touching the ground at all. She closed her eyes as her cheeks burned, and held him tightly, ignoring the murmurs of her audience—nothing they said or did mattered half a damn in hell now or ever would.

**(tsuzuku)**


	17. as beautiful as I believe

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Nessiah woke in the small hours of the morning, roused out of a sound sleep by a soft but unusual noise. Stretching, he realized quickly that the sheets on Roswell's side of the bed were flung back, and that his lover was nowhere in the immediate vicinity.

Frowning a little deeper, he sat up—and heard the sound again. This time he knew it as a shallow cough, and turned towards the door to the privy to see that Roswell was leaning in the doorframe with a small glass of water in his hand.

"Something wrong?" he managed blearily, running a hand through his hair to make sure none of it was caught in his faceplate or sticking out at strange angles.

"My throat was a little dry—that's all," Roswell replied, shaking his head. "Go back to sleep." He coughed again, and sipped at the water he held. By the time he'd finished it, he wasn't coughing anymore, and he ducked back into the privy to replace his cup. Nessiah watched, gradually coming more awake, taking in the soft play of moonlight that peeked through the curtains along Roswell's body.

"Hurry and come back in," he said. "It's getting cold."

Roswell laughed and slid back into bed, pulling the sheets and comforter back up to his shoulders. "Go to sleep, Nessiah—it's very, very early."

Nessiah didn't reply in words—he shifted and slid his hand under the covers, making Roswell gasp and shudder, his eyes going wide.

"Nessiah—what—?"

"You woke me up," he reasoned. "You can't _really _expect me to just let you off, can you?"

"No," Roswell murmured with a soft chuckle, "I suppose not." And he gasped again, much more softly, as Nessiah covered his body with his own. He tried to speak—a protest or perhaps a plea—but Nessiah silenced him with a kiss.

It was like a dream. Roswell slid his hands slowly down Nessiah's back, provoking a few soft sighs of contentment; Nessiah traced a line of butterfly kisses from Roswell's cheek to his heart, hands working all the while. It wasn't long before the necromancer's face was flushed and his lips were roseate and swollen and sweat was beading on his chest, and Nessiah pushed himself up and Roswell cinched one leg around his waist and allowed his lover to push the back of his other thigh a bit higher, to slide his arm beneath it to keep it in place. Nessiah watched Roswell's eyes lose their focus and half-close as he slid in, felt rather than saw the muscles of Roswell's belly twitch as a single drop of sweat fell from Nessiah's shoulder to just above his lover's navel. He slid in, slid _deep, _and Roswell closed his eyes and clutched the sheets with a low throaty sound.

"Ah—Nessiah—there—_there—"_

From that point on, things were no more than a tangled rush of sound and color and sensation; by the time it was over, Nessiah could barely muster the will to keep his sight spells in place. When he let even them go and cuddled senselessly into the slick curve of Roswell's body, smiling as his lover's arms enfolded him, he had quite forgotten why he'd even awakened in the first place.

--

Nessiah didn't wake again until midmorning, and as soon as he sat up, Roswell was already bolting the door so that they could make love again. They both dozed off afterwards, and so it was only an hour or so from noon when they finally made it downstairs.

"You sure took your time," Kylier remarked dryly, raising her eyebrows at the two of them.

Roswell smiled; Nessiah shrugged.

"Must be nice." She shook her head. "Still, you two missed a lot while you were desperately trying to break whoever's bed you were in, so there _is _a downside to constantly being horny."

Nessiah blushed a little and made a face at her. "It's far from _constantly…"_

"Gimme a break, Ness—if you're not mooning over Gulcasa, you're chasing after Roswell. And if you're not having crazed sex with Roswell, you're in your room with the door locked." Seeing his blush deepen, Kylier grinned. "Well, okay, okay, maybe I exaggerate a little, but not that much."

"Note the distinct lack of laughter here," Nessiah retorted flatly.

"What is it we missed while we weren't breaking my bed?" Roswell asked.

"Eh." Kylier spread her hands. "Nothing _that _big—just an ambassador over from Embellia wanting to know where the hell Nietzsche is and why the hell she isn't back there yet." She snickered. "It was quite the show. Still _is _quite the show, apparently—the poor girl hasn't taken the hint and headed back empty-handed yet. Nietzsche left and the ambassador followed her—I've just been staying here waiting for you two lovebirds to get in."

"Ah… that's unfortunate," Roswell said, smiling. "It's always entertaining to watch Nietzsche put them in their place."

Nessiah just stared from one to the other, confused. "Why are ambassadors trying to collect Nietzsche? Do they want the Transmigragem back from her? But she's been doing an excellent job of caring for it…"

Roswell and Kylier turned to him with identical wide-eyed expressions. Kylier slapped a hand to her forehead.

"Shit, I completely forgot you didn't know! You and Gulcasa and everybody'd left by the time we found out, didn't you?"

"Found out _what? _Cut the suspense already; let me know!"

"It turns out that the caretaker of the Transmigragem is traditionally the Queen of Embellia," Roswell explained, taking pity on him. "The old Queen, Emelone, died during the war, and so because Nietzsche is the one who recovered the gem, she's technically the new Queen of Embellia."

Nessiah was speechless for a moment. "Are you _joking?"_

"Nope," Kylier replied, still grinning. "And that's not even the best part. Nietzsche was a little annoyed that all of a sudden we've got Embellian ambassadors practically falling out the windows begging her to come back and get trained—none of the Embellian Undines would give her the time of day 'til then, since she got exiled. So we get one every month, and Nietzsche sends her packing—she doesn't seem to have much interest in her new queenly duties. Hell, who can blame her? She's still just a kid, for crying out loud! We just like to be around to watch, 'cause it's a riot."

"Nietzsche, the Queen of Embellia…" Nessiah couldn't help the smirk. "Gods, this is going to provide us with good entertainment for years to come."

--

If there was one person in the castle who _wasn't _entertained by the prospect, it was the appointed Queen herself. This ambassador was a lot more persistent than the ones who'd come before, and had been following Nietzsche around since breakfast.

"My lady, _please, _hear my words and consider your course of action," the Undine was saying. She was a lot older than Nietzsche—probably around Queen Emelone's age—and had a severe, disapproving look on her face. Coral and pearl beads dripped from around her neck, and she was wearing five sapphire-and-gold armbands. Her hair was pinned severely back, and every one of her scales gleamed. Nietzsche could tell that she was probably high-ranking—maybe that was why she didn't seem to have heard the word _no _yet. "The council we have set in place cannot continue ruling in your stead forever! If you are to receive your crown at _any _time in the near future, then you _must _return to us now!"

"But if there's a council, then Nietzsche doesn't see what the problem is," the young Undine replied. She _knew _she should be nice, but still, this was getting kind of annoying. "Nietzsche doesn't _want _to go back, so you can't make Nietzsche do it anyway."

The ambassador huffed and got very red in the face, flicking her tail flukes. "My lady should understand full well that our people need a leader, someone they can trust and look to! You cannot avoid the task _forever!"_

Nietzsche shook her head. "Maybe later. But… Nietzsche needs to be here now, 'cause Queen Yggdra needs everybody's help. Nietzsche was part of the Royal Army before all this happened, so Nietzsche still has a job to take care of now."

"Even if it means helping _Bronquia?" _the ambassador asked. "Helping Fantasinia means helping the _Empire _as well, as I'm sure you must be aware—what with their leaders all but bedfellows these days—"

Nietzsche tilted her head, puzzled. She wasn't really sure what that meant, but the ambassador's tone of voice when she'd said it told her it probably wasn't a nice thing to say.

"You better watch what you say," came a cheerful voice from behind Nietzsche. "Around here, even the _walls _love Yggdra, and she ain't gonna stand anybody badmouthing Gulcasa. 'Sides, none of _us _will take too kindly to anybody badmouthing _her."_

Nietzsche turned to see that Kylier was standing there with her arms crossed and a big smile on her face.

While the ambassador got redder and madder-looking, Kylier went on. "Don't think saying stuff like that to Nietzsche's gonna get you off, either—maybe everything having to do with how humans make babies still goes way over her head, but she knows an insult when she hears it. Last time I checked, Fantasinia and Embellia were allies—and Fantasinia and Bronquia have been allies for months now. And usually allies can be polite about allies. If you can't be polite, then we can always get you kicked out of the castle."

"What does… 'bedfellows' have to do with making babies?" Nietzsche piped up, intrigued. When Undine souls were reincarnated, there was a ceremony in which the prospective mother accepted a soul into her body—but humans didn't reincarnate, and so that couldn't be the way it worked for them. She'd always wondered, but her sister and everyone else had kept telling her it could wait until she was older.

"We can have Flone or somebody explain that to you later," Kylier told her, patting her shoulder. "What matters now is that _some _people are having trouble behaving."

"I see no reason to behave any differently, thank you!" The ambassador looked _really _mad now, although she'd puffed her chest back out and had her arms folded. "After the way the Empire took advantage of us during the war, how _could _we ever _possibly _imagine being allies with—"

"Dear, _dear, _but it does look as though we've a mess on our hands, doesn't it?" Nietzsche glanced back to see that Roswell and Nessiah had just turned the corner and were standing a ways back from Kylier. It was Roswell who had spoken, and he was wearing a polite but still disapproving expression. "Her Majesty will be _so _disappointed to hear an ambassador from an allied country saying such things about her other esteemed allies. The insult to Her Majesty's honor itself can't be overlooked, either… speaking of the Queen of Fantasinia with even the _slightest _implication that she's promiscuous—indeed, that she's all but a common prostitute—is a serious matter, _especially _considering that you're conversing with members of the former Royal Army."

"The words I share with _my _queen are none of your concern, _human—"_ the ambassador began, then looked sharply at Nessiah and did a double-take. _"You! _By all the gods—if Fantasinia is so _honorable, _then why does the Kingdom harbor _this _man?! This lying bastard is the reason our late Queen was killed by your army, and the cause of the civil war!"

Roswell narrowed his eyes, his expression going very cold. "You are speaking of an Imperial official," he said softly and very forcefully. "I advise that you retract those statements _immediately, _or know that the Emperor himself will hear of them, and he will not take kindly to them."

Nessiah just linked his hands behind his back and tilted his head a little to the side. "Oh? And what would _you _have done, pray tell? What would you have me do now? It really only goes to show your lack of knowledge and your willingness to take your fears out on humans that you _believed _something so idiotic as the idea of an _eternal youth elixir _made of human blood. I did nothing but tap into your desire to survive and your _prejudice—_your reaction was all your own doing, even if I _did _suspect it.

"Oh, I wouldn't _dream _of denying my actions," he went on mildly as the ambassador's face contorted angrily. "Neither will I pretend that I told you that after considering Embellian welfare. Rather, the only thing concerning me at the time was that I needed some way to busy your military so that you wouldn't support King Ordene against Bronquia when the war hit the castle. I'm sure it didn't _once _occur to you that we had to do _something _to get rid of the Fantasinian advantage of numbers. The lives of many people I've come to love deeply were at stake, and with that in mind, I cannot apologize for any of it. If I had to, I would do it again.

"Now, if you're satisfied—or if you're not, it really makes no difference to me—excuse us, and excuse Nietzsche here. If you'll forgive the saying…" Nessiah smiled a little, icily. "We've bigger fish to fry at the moment."

"You—" The ambassador's chest was going up and down. "By the rights of my ancestors, I challenge you to—"

"Hey, be quiet!" Nietzsche interrupted, scowling. The ambassador fell silent with her mouth still open, looking back at her with a silly surprised look on her face. "Leave Ness alone! He was the one that told Nietzsche where to _find _the Transmigragem, and he's helping us all now! We're all supposed to be helping _each other _now, remember? Embellia's allies with Fantasinia, and so Embellia's allies with Bronquia too! If you can't be nice, then go home!"

The ambassador looked _really _angry now, but since she'd made so much fuss over Nietzsche being the queen, she couldn't really talk back. Whirling around, she left in a huff.

"So there," Nietzsche said when she was gone, and turned to her friends and smiled. "Well, now that _that's _done, let's go do something more fun, everybody!"

Kylier laughed, and Roswell smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

Nessiah didn't say anything. He looked surprised, and maybe a little thoughtful too.

--

Nietzsche's suggestion of "something more fun" turned out to be an impromptu midday banquet, with mandatory attendance for all members of the Royal Army, as well as everyone from the Imperial Army who happened to be present at the capital. Many of the people there seemed to be rather confused as to what was going on; Nessiah sensed the air of excitement in the room and the way Russell and Flone kept looking at each other, so he wasn't surprised when the Astral Fencer stood with his wife on his arm, tapping the rim of his empty glass with the edge of a spoon.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why we've called you here today," he began, then broke off to exchange glowing looks with Flone. "We just wanted to tell you all…"

"We're having a baby," she interrupted him, positively beaming, and he just laughed.

There was an instantaneous cheer from everyone in the room, and then a flurry of questions—when had they found out? How far along was she? Did they know what it was going to be? Did they have names picked out? When was the baby due, anyway?

"We've known for a little while, but we just wanted to be sure things were alright in there," Russell said when the clamor had died down a little. "We're about three months in, maybe a little more… so the baby will be coming towards the end of fall, we think."

"It's too early yet to tell whether we're having a boy or girl," Flone added. "And, yes, the subject of names has come up once or twice. We've still got a long while to decide, though."

"What's to decide?" Milanor wanted to know. "Of course you're going to name it after me."

Everyone laughed.

"I wasn't really joking, you know," the thief complained, which made everyone laugh again.

"Personally, I like the name Shirley," Flone told them with a giggle. "Flower names are always nice, too."

"Yeah, but what if it's a _girl?" _Cruz wondered. Nessiah laughed at that so hard it hurt.

Everyone settled down gradually after that, as food began to circulate. There wasn't any alcohol available, as of course Flone couldn't drink any—like any good healer, she was carefully monitoring what she ate and drank so that she could care for her unborn child. Individuals went up to give the happy couple their congratulations. Nessiah considered joining them briefly, then decided against it. He didn't know what he would say any more now than he'd known what to say back when he'd first found out. Once he did know… well, he'd take Flone aside and say it privately; all these people made him feel a little self-conscious.

Gulcasa was last in that line; while Nessiah watched, he clasped Russell's arm and spoke to him softly, nodding to Flone and then taking both her hands in his. She shook her head, but he gently lifted and squeezed her hands before giving Russell a smile and heading back around the side of the table.

Nessiah's chest gave an unwelcome little jolt as he realized that Gulcasa was pulling up the chair right next to his.

"God, this is…" Gulcasa shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "I'm really glad for them, and this—if you think about it, this is exactly what all of us needed now, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Nessiah asked.

"Well…" Gulcasa looked towards him with a crooked smile that made his heart turn over. "It's just that with all this shit lately—homicidal angels, Roswell and Rosary's little issues, and me basically losing it… we've been getting dragged down into all the nastiness the world's got to offer. The way the war got to be after a while, you know? So this—I don't know, it helps to remind us that there's still so much hope and light and goodness and _life _in the world. The great wheel of the world's still turning; we'll be somewhere better eventually, too."

Nessiah glanced down at Russell and Flone, watching the way they all but glowed with a kind of happiness that was both private and that radiated out, uplifting everyone around. "…I didn't think of it that way, but you're right. Everyone's been getting on edge lately, and this… we _do _need something to be happy about, don't we? A little more than just a flimsy excuse to party."

"That, and…" Gulcasa's eyes were warm and dark, his smile suddenly much softer. "There have just been so many times when I've been able to witness the beginning of something new and beautiful… there's something really magical about it. In spite of everything that's been happening lately, it makes me feel so _blessed."_

There was a short pause in which neither of them said anything, and the only sound was the soft, happy babble of the others' conversations.

Then Gulcasa laughed, running both hands through his hair. "Crap, that sounded really stupid, didn't it? Never mind me. I suppose I'm just getting sentimental in my old age." He laughed again, his face flushing self-consciously.

"No," Nessiah told him, smiling. "It's not stupid at all. I know exactly what you mean."

They lapsed into easy silence, and Gulcasa watched Russell and Flone with that same warm smile. Nessiah watched Gulcasa. He ached all over with the desire to just lean heavily into Gulcasa's side, rest against his friend's warmth. Restraining himself only made it hurt more.

_I can't, I can't, I can't, _he kept thinking, digging his nails into the wood of his chair. _It would be wrong of me to just take advantage like that, when I can't, when _we _can't…_

Yggdra's words echoed back to him suddenly, making him flinch a little where he sat.

_She kept telling me that I should try, _Nessiah thought breathlessly, _even though she's also… But what should I…? Should I really… _can _I really…?_

_I-I can't just fling myself at him, that's too much, it's too—too forward by far, but… _Nessiah felt his face getting hot and shivered a little. _If I could just… if I could even just take his hand…_

Releasing the chair, Nessiah glanced down at his left hand, then over at Gulcasa. He was still watching Russell and Flone, not paying any attention to Nessiah at all.

_If I could just…_ Shivering, shrinking back, he started to reach.

Another thought had him pulling his hand back.

_But—wait. If I touch him, he'll want to know if there's something I need him for. He won't understand, and I can't very well say that all I want is to touch him, can I? This is just a bad idea all over—_

Nessiah shook his head, biting his lip. _No—I can't just keep acting like this! I have to at least try, don't I? If he means anything to me at all, I have to at least…_

_—What if he pulls away? What if I reach out and touch him and he pulls away? That would be so much worse than not ever touching him at all…_

_NO! None of it means _anything _if I can't at least TRY!_

Quaking all over, Nessiah slowly reached out—and just before his skin brushed Gulcasa's, yanked his hand back.

_Ugh, what am I doing? What am I DOING? I can't—I can't—_

Scarlet-faced with shame, he stood sharply and retreated to one of the padded oriels, where he curled up and watched Gulcasa forlornly.

_Why do I have to be so damn _pathetic?

--

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when Yggdra came to join him.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew," she said softly, "that because of this, we've basically cancelled all today's plans, from courts to training and everything in between. We're going to take a little time to forget all the bad things that have happened, and celebrate… probably long after dark."

"It's a good idea, I suppose," Nessiah agreed with a sigh. "Gulcasa was saying that we needed to be reminded of the positive things in life."

"Was he?" Yggdra smiled. "We certainly do, especially at a time like this. So… why do you seem so depressed? You were happy before…"

She might be sympathetic, but then again, Nessiah couldn't tell her what had happened. This was the kind of thing he'd only let slip to Kylier, or maybe Roswell; besides, wherever Gulcasa was concerned, Yggdra was… he supposed that everything that had happened meant she was his rival now. Or something along those lines.

"Apparently I lack not only social graces, but social courage—let's just leave it at that," he said at last, with another sigh.

"No, you don't," Yggdra told him, looking puzzled. "Why are you putting yourself down like that, Nessiah?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied flatly. "Anyway, so long as you and I are sitting here and nothing else is going on, what would you say to a short magic lesson?"

"Eh?" Yggdra blinked. "Well—well, I don't see any reason not to… what brought this on?"

Nessiah sat up straight and shrugged. "Just impulse, I suppose—besides, the atmosphere here will be conducive, and this is something you should know how to do."

Yggdra shifted where she sat, folding one leg beneath her so that she could lean against the wall and face him. "Alright… so what should I do?"

"You don't need to try to clear your mind for this, and I don't think you could, anyway, considering that the rest of the party won't stop for us," he told her, smiling. "Of course, your lesson will be preceded by the usual lecture, so just bear with me."

"Of course," Yggdra said. Her eyes were twinkling.

"Even without your Artifact—even without the contract we made—you do have some limited capacity to work magic on your own, as I believe I told you before." Most of her bloodline had—it was rarer now as the angelic blood, Nessiah's blood, in the human Artwaltz line became more and more diluted, but some parts of one's heritage just couldn't be denied. "It's not enough to break out and cause trouble, which is good because you've never been trained. It's just enough for small spells like this one.

"Making magic is… oh, part of why it feels like such a rush or release to us is because we're creating, we're making _more _out of the simplest things in life, just out of the energy inside us. Perhaps for that reason, the most basic spells all involve calling or creating the elements. Today, I'll be teaching you how to make light."

Yggdra's eyes widened a little, but she nodded.

"Cup your hands in front of you like this," Nessiah told her, holding out his own as if he were trying to hold water. Yggdra copied the gesture, and he slid his hands beneath hers.

"Now what do I do?"

"Concentrate a little—don't shut everything out, just consider it to be a little less important. Reach deep down inside your heart for the power you and I have started to explore in your lessons." Yggdra closed her eyes as Nessiah spoke, acquiring that little line on her brow that said she was focusing. He nodded approvingly. "That's good. Now hold on to that inner warmth, and think of the positive emotions you feel about Russell and Flone's news. Think of how happy you are for them. That joy and warmth, along with the power inside you, are all you need.

"The energy you feel—your emotions, your magic—are centered at your heart right now. They're rising up in your chest, until you can't bear not to express them in some way. Concentrate a little harder. The energy is streaming through your body with your blood, with every beat of your heart. It's flowing through your veins down your arms, into your hands and your fingertips.

"Your hands are starting to feel warm now; heat and power is gathering along your palms and your fingers. Imagine now. Imagine that power seeping through the skin there, escaping into the world and the air on little flickers of light."

Yggdra's palms were glittering, and a few small spheres of light similar to those that appeared in the Cura spell hovered just over her hands. Nessiah smiled.

"You can open your eyes now."

Yggdra did, and her whole face lit up when she saw the light she held. "Oh!"

She leaned forward, but as she did, the little balls of light vanished and the glitter began to fade. Seeing this, Yggdra flinched, then froze.

"It's… going out…" The words were nothing short of remorseful.

"Don't worry—with a little more practice, you'll be able to keep it lit for much longer," Nessiah told her with a smile. "Just think—you'll never need a candle or a torch again."

Yggdra laughed a little. "I guess that's true, isn't it?"

There was a little silence while they turned to watch some of the others raising their glasses and laughing.

"It's a small thing, but it's something you can do," Nessiah remarked at last. "Like your smile, or the way you're advocating for the people of Orlando and Norn to have their lands back. Or the way you never stop reaching out to people like me, who you know can be counted on to bite the proverbial hand that feeds at some point." He stood, stretched a little. "It's something you'll always be able to do. Something more important than waving sharp objects around and drawing people's blood."

There was another brief silence while he wondered a little if his words had been trite or inadequate, but then he felt Yggdra's hand on his shoulder and turned back towards her.

She was smiling, her eyes overly bright. "Nessiah… thank you," was all she said.

Embarrassed, he turned away from her. This girl, who'd grown up wanting for absolutely nothing—the daughter of a man like Ordene who'd thrown two of his own children away and killed and subjugated to see to his own well-being and sense of security—a girl who'd been born of a doomed and cursed line that had started with a crazy fallen angel and the damaged human woman who'd raped him out of love—how and where had she learned this deep goodness and caring and the way she'd give anyone and everyone a second chance to prove theirs?

"I don't need thanks," he said, and set about finding a place he could be alone in the crowd again, undisturbed but for the noise of their merrymaking and his private thoughts.

--

The celebration went on for the rest of the day and into the night, just as Yggdra had promised. Zilva disappeared for hours at a time, but always returned; Nessiah thought of emulating her, but he really had nothing he could go out and do. Eventually—because as much as he tried to be, he just wasn't a social creature—he discreetly left the room, finding a nearby terrace that looked out over the water. He sighed and sat down, just enjoying the silence and the break from the crowd.

"You look kinda tired," a voice said from the other side of the terrace. Nessiah started a little to realize he wasn't alone, and whirled to see that Nietzsche was leaning against the stone wall behind them with a curious expression.

"…I just needed a little breathing room," he told her.

She nodded, her serious expression comical on her childish face. "Uh-huh, Nietzsche understands how that is."

"Actually…" Nessiah began, then let his voice trail off. He didn't know quite how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"Hmm?" Nietzsche just turned to him with her big smile.

"Earlier today, when that ambassador and I were… arguing." Trading insults was more like it, but… "You stuck up for me, and prevented her from challenging me to a ritual duel. Why?"

"'Cause Nietzsche doesn't like people saying that about people Nietzsche likes," was the simple answer.

It left Nessiah nearly speechless. "People… you like."

"Yep!" Nietzsche leaned back against the wall again, looking up at the star-speckled night sky. She was still smiling, and was flicking her tail flukes absently as she stared into the heavens.

There were too many protests Nessiah wanted to make to that blunt and definitive statement; it took him too long to untangle his thoughts and decide how to counter it.

"I don't understand you," he managed at last. "With everything I've done to Embellia—to you and your sister—you have every reason to hate me just as much as the rest of your people do. You can't possibly forget that I'm the reason she's dead."

"Well… maybe that's true." Nietzsche gave a little shrug. "But… Nietzsche knows there're lots and lots of worse ways for people to die, and way worse reasons. Nietzsche's seen a lot of people die, after all."

She was right. She was still childish and innocent, but she'd been through the same ugly war that everyone else had. Nessiah would never be able to figure out how she had emerged so relatively unscarred.

"Love's a good thing—that's what Nietzsche thinks. See, Nietzsche's sister always wanted to know more about love, the kind most humans have. There are some Undines that can fall in love with other Undines and stuff, but most of us aren't really like that—and some of us are okay with not having that kind of love, but Nietzsche's sister wasn't like that, either. Nietzsche's sister wanted really badly to be in love. So, you did that. Even if you did it for yourself, you helped her wish come true. Love's not a waste, at least that's what Nietzsche has decided. Not ever, no matter what."

Nessiah just stared at her.

"And everything you were saying before was true, too," Nietzsche went on, turning her cheerful smile back on him. "Nietzsche's thought about it a lot, back when Nietzsche was still really upset by everything. If the Empire had gone to war with the Kingdom and all the other countries like Lombardia and Verlaine and Embellia were there to help, nobody would've had a chance. Gulcasa and everybody would all have died. And, and, even though Nietzsche used to think people from Bronquia's army were scary, they're all actually really nice! So—Nietzsche understands what you mean when you say you wanted them to live no matter what. You were just trying to protect them by doing that."

Nessiah kept right on staring.

"Nietzsche would probably do the same thing if Yggdra and everybody here was in trouble, too, so—" The little Undine took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips, sticking out her chest staunchly. "So it'd be kinda dumb for Nietzsche to be mad at you for that!"

"…………" Nessiah shook his head, disbelieving. "And that—that's all it takes. That's all it takes, and you were able to forgive me for your sister and your country just like that?"

Nietzsche shrugged.

"That, and other stuff, too—it'd take Nietzsche too long to really explain." She scooted a little closer to him across the stone tiles—with her tail splayed out in front of her, it wasn't easy for her to move. "Besides—Nietzsche's known you long enough to know you're not a bad person."

Children. Nessiah would never, ever know if they were far more clear-sighted than adults, or just more _shortsighted. _They looked at things so much more simply, but he couldn't deny that Nietzsche's practical perspective made too much sense to disagree with.

"And Nietzsche…" Nessiah looked back towards her, and she made a stubborn face and went on. "Nietzsche doesn't want you to be sad anymore!"

Nessiah tilted his head, puzzled. "…'Sad'…?"

"Yeah, 'cause you're sad _all _the time!" With an even more incredible scowl, Nietzsche pointed at him accusingly. "So you better start cheering up, or Nietzsche's gonna have to _make _you cheer up!"

He couldn't help but smile. "You'll _make _me be happier, is that it?"

"Somebody has to," was all she said.

Nessiah just shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever understand the way her mind worked.

--

He didn't return to the party after that, mostly because he knew that any further social interaction with these humans would just give him a headache. Instead—on impulse—he took a roundabout route to Roswell's room.

Of course, it would probably be quite some time before Roswell actually returned to it, but Nessiah didn't mind. He closed the door, undressed slowly, and lay across the length of Roswell's bed, idly turning the pages of the Revelation as he entered a meditative state and cast his senses, waiting for his lover's return.

He felt it as a flutter and a warmth in his chest when Roswell left the company of the others, protesting that he really and truly had to get to bed. As he knew Roswell turned the last corner and entered the hall, Nessiah stood and put both hands on his spellbook's open pages, releasing his contract and then placing the Revelation on the bedside table. Shifting his wings a little self-consciously, he sat on the edge of the mattress, holding one leg folded to his chest as he watched the door.

Roswell walked through, and Nessiah had the distinct pleasure of watching his lover's eyes go wide, watching him forget he was standing in the frame of an open door and just stare. When he remembered and closed it, he turned back to Nessiah with a question on his face.

A little shyly, Nessiah glanced away. "I just thought… I just wanted to be with you like this… to be with you when I'm whole, not broken."

Roswell didn't speak. He just crossed the room and touched Nessiah's face, softly and gently and full of wonder and something like love.

They danced the long slow dance of body against body where clothes seem to melt away beneath the touch of hands, the long slow dance that always seems to end at the side of the bed. It happened naturally, uncalculated; the pupils of Nessiah's dark eyes dilated slowly and he was quivering all over, but there was no ice in him, and the fear eased beneath Roswell's reverent touch.

The fifth time was filled with tenderness and glory.

**(tsuzuku)**


	18. kiss and tell

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"So… how do you see the next few months going?" Yggdra asked, sitting up a little so she could look at Gulcasa more clearly. The two of them, along with Kylier, Roswell, and Elena, were on their hour-and-a-half lunch break. Since the incident with Brongaa, Nessiah had insisted that their training intensify—and unless they had prior commitments, like Yggdra's courts, they were now spending much of the day working.

Gulcasa didn't stir from the checkered blanket the two of them sat on—they'd brought two; the others were using the blue one and finishing off lunch there—but he did open one eye to look at her. "Well, so long as nothing too major happens to keep us here—by the end of the month we've got to pack up, head back to Bronquia. If only because we need to deal with Shorehold—I don't fancy leaving them to sit for much longer. They seem to have reconsidered their militant standing after their remaining assassins presumably brought home horror tales of my illustrious ancestor, but…" He sighed, closed his eye, and rested back on the blanket. "Besides, the reconstruction could use more strong backs, and my sisters will be absolutely _homicidal _if we miss the Midsummer festival. God, so will I. You'll enjoy it; take my word on that."

"I can't really pretend I wouldn't love to get away from the court for a while," Yggdra said with a sigh. "Anything is better than listening to the nobles argue."

"I heard they're trying to get you married off now." Gulcasa was smirking.

Yggdra groaned.

"Well, they _are _nobles, and plenty of them _do _have younger sons I'm sure they think would make excellent royal consorts. Is it true that they've started trying to organize banquets for you to get to know your would-be suitors?"

Yggdra groaned again. "Please, you've no idea how completely unbearable it is! They've no fault in their fathers' plans—if I have to try to tell _one _more hangdog young boy that I'm not interested…"

"I suppose I shouldn't make fun." But Gulcasa was still smiling when he opened his eyes again to look at her. "I'd be getting the same raw deal as you if not for my sisters. The fustiest conservatives of your court may be posturing for power, but the rest of them _are _well-meaning—you don't have an heir, after all; it's just you. I have Emilia in line for the throne after me, and then Luciana and Aegina. Hey—there's an idea; let your people know you have a couple of bastard half-sisters. They'll leave you alone then."

Yggdra didn't quite see the merit of the idea. "Th-that might be true, but didn't those two nearly die because of just this kind of posturing? I don't know if it would be wise…"

"No? Then all you have to go about doing is make sure you're the kind of girl who, despite being the Queen, no noble in his right mind would want his son married to. Keep fraternizing with us, for instance—move into, say, Elena's quarters for a fortnight—or just do something else decidedly improper. I'm sure we could find a way to irreparably damage your reputation."

_I-irreparably damage… _Yggdra blushed badly; out of her will, her belly tightened. It was true—that _would _make sure no conservative noble would wed her. Her court still forced her to go through the shame of monthly examinations, to make certain she was still an innocent. Her father had had to abide by their wishes, freshly insulted every time, though he found their insistence to be archaic. They'd be too shocked, too horrified, and proclaim her unmarriageable. So many noble families insisted upon virgin brides for their sons…

Part of her wheeled and fluttered and protested—who could she possibly ask to her bed for such a thing, such a selfish reason, when she wasn't at all ready? The rest of her supplied a vivid image that was answer enough, colored by the court ladies' gossip and things she'd learned from friends and books. A moonlit night, a bit too much to drink, a welcoming bed—Gulcasa's body covering hers—

Yggdra squeaked and commanded herself to stop thinking about it, which made it even worse. By now, she was probably as red as a sweetberry.

"Why are you—" Gulcasa began, sitting up, then cut himself off. Awkwardness crossed his face as color rose up in it. "No, no, that's _not _what I meant…!"

By the way he covered his face and turned away from her, though—Yggdra was awfully, deliciously certain that he was thinking the same thing she was. It made her skin prickle with gooseflesh even as her body tightened in a demanding little clutch, a sudden tug deep down in her belly. She didn't understand what she was feeling, and it made her ashamed and confused and curious and excited, all at once. It made her head hurt.

"Now what are _you _two getting so worked up about?" It was Kylier's voice, flat and drawling, and it made Yggdra flinch where she sat. "Bad thoughts are nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you can pocket them for when you're behind closed doors."

"It's not _like _that!" Yggdra and Gulcasa protested in unison, Yggdra's voice a pitched wail.

"I think it is," Kylier said pointedly.

"Hush," Roswell told her, and to the Emperor and the Queen he offered, "Why worry about the court? If you really want to stop their poor attempts at matchmaking, let Durant know about it. Good heavens, he'll be outraged—and he'll put a stop to it right away."

"And, honestly—there really is nothing wrong with fun mental images," Kylier went on, apparently unwilling to be silenced. "As long as it gives them _something _productive to do while they're trying to get to sleep, well…!"

Quite as pink in the face as Yggdra, Elena smacked the Vanir in the shoulder. She stopped talking, but nothing could prevent her from cracking a scurrilous grin.

--

"So _that's _how human babies get made?" Nietzsche's eyes were huge, her expression enthralled. "That's _weird! _It sounds kinda silly, too! How do you even know if it _works _the first time?"

Flone was overcome with giggles. "Oh, Nietzsche," she managed, wiping at the corners of her eyes. "There isn't any way to tell until the woman's monthly bleeding stops—or if she or her partner is a healer; then they can feel the new life starting after a week or so. Until then, the couple will usually try more than once."

"It still sounds weird to Nietzsche, but okay—Nietzsche understands that much, now." The Undine girl frowned. "So—so two humans do the baby-making thing in bed?"

"Usually," Flone replied, smiling to herself over a few memorable moments with Russell.

"Is—that what it means, then? When somebody says that human people are 'bedfellows'?" Nietzsche pronounced the term carefully, still frowning. "That they think those people are doing the baby-making thing?"

Flone frowned a little. "…Nietzsche, where did you hear that?"

"From the last ambassador. She said it about Yggdra and Gulcasa," Nietzsche answered readily. "She said, ummm—she was trying to get me not to help Yggdra so I'd come back with her, 'cause they were, were… 'all but bedfellows these days'. And then Kylier showed up and made her be quiet. Is that what she meant?"

Flone was quiet for a moment—the how and why of sex weren't that difficult to explain to a child, but the philosophy of sex? That would be a trial indeed to explain to an Undine, for whose race sex was a pleasurable activity now and again and nothing more.

"When a person refers to two people being as close as bedfellows," she said at last, choosing her words carefully, "he or she is making a cruel and somewhat crude statement about their closeness. As well as saying their closeness is an unnatural thing."

"So that's why Kylier got so mad… but Nietzsche still doesn't get it. Why say bad things about the baby-making thing? There's no reason Yggdra would be doing something like that now, is there?"

Flone hesitated a while longer. "Nietzsche… humans are strange and very complicated creatures. You'll understand a lot of this better when you're older and know more about these things, but I'll do what I can to explain now. There are things that we need to do so that we will survive, and that our people will survive."

"Like eating and drinking and sleeping?" Nietzsche wanted to know.

"That's exactly right," Flone told her with a nod and a smile. "You know that when you're hungry and you eat until your stomach is full, it makes you happy; it's the same way if you drink when you're thirsty or sleep when you're tired. This doesn't apply to Undines, because they reincarnate, but humans need to have children so that there will continue to be humans in the future.

"Nietzsche… when people make love it _feels _good. It's also about as close as two people can be to each other without being one person. Because of that, sometimes people who love each other very much use sex as a way to show that they love each other. A little like a hug or a kiss, but more private. When the ambassador said that Gulcasa and Yggdra are as good as bedfellows, she was implying that they're using sex for feeling good as much as for love, and saying that their relationship is improper. She accused them crudely of being lovers and was judging them unkindly, especially as neither one of them is ready for that kind of closeness. Do you understand?"

Nietzsche had been following all this with a look of concentration, and now she tilted her head to the side. "Nietzsche… _thinks _so. Some of it's still kinda confusing, though."

"It will make more sense as you learn more, and as you get older and understand humans better. Think about it a little," Flone encouraged, setting her hand on the girl's shoulder. "I know it's a bit unfair to leave you with questions, but this way you'll be able to understand the way people talk better."

"Okay!" Nietzsche nodded, her pensive expression evaporating into childish glee. "Nietzsche's gonna go find everybody else now—thanks for telling Nietzsche all this stuff!" And out she went, leaving the clinic for the town.

Flone watched her go, smiling regretfully. It was far past time for Nietzsche to understand this part of human nature—she was twelve, and would be thirteen soon; most noble girls knew by ten or eleven and most commoner girls by eight or nine—but she couldn't help but be a little sad about it. Nietzsche understood some of the basic concepts of sex now; Flone just hoped she would learn about its beauties before she had to face its ugliness. She hoped the girl would be happy that a few less conversations would go over her head.

Eventually, Flone supposed she'd have to explain everything else to do with sex—how exactly its pleasures worked, and what masturbation was; how couples risked it without becoming pregnant. How it worked between two men, and between two women. How it could be performed with no emotion but desire. How it could be used to hurt, or at someone's expense—prostitution and rape.

By that time, Nietzsche wouldn't be a child anymore.

It was all part of becoming an adult, but this proof of the world moving forward and time ticking by only made Flone melancholy.

God, how would she feel when she had to start explaining this to _her _child? She placed a hand over the almost-unnoticeable curve of her belly and sighed.

The door to the rest of the clinic opened, and Russell walked through. Catching her expression, he frowned. "…Flone, is something the matter?"

She sighed, but smiled wistfully. "Nietzsche just came by," she explained. "Kylier brought her—apparently the poor thing's been making a real pest of herself around Nessiah lately, and his circle decided Nietzsche needed something else to do. The ambassador a while ago made some nasty implications about Yggdra being little better than a prostitute in front of her, so Nietzsche was just full of questions. We figured it was high time someone explained the birds and the bees to her."

It made Russell laugh. "Well, she's always been a precocious kid—it's really just her society that's kept her in the dark about this stuff for so long. Still, it's hard to watch them grow up, isn't it?"

By the way that he said it, Flone knew that he didn't just mean Nietzsche. "Yes," she agreed with a sigh. "It's never been easy, and I suppose it'll just keep getting harder. …I hope they all get to be as happy as we are in the end."

"I know," Russell said, and came to stand next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her forehead. "Come on—there are potions and lotions to be made; let's put you to work. Little Shirley, too," he added, reaching around to pat her belly. "Can't possibly leave him out."

Flone couldn't help it. She giggled like mad.

--

Where his partners had decided to spend their lunch break in the fields, Nessiah had retreated back to his rooms in the castle. It was more out of necessity than any particular interest; if it hadn't been, he would be down at the forges or doing something _interesting _rather than watching the minutes vanish curled up in one end of the marble tub.

Ever since that hectic day where so much had come undone, it had felt like something inside Nessiah had cracked. It had always been difficult to bottle up his emotions around Gulcasa; now, fitting in that crucial stopper was impossible.

Yggdra had—had veritably given her _blessing. _And she should've been the first to tell him to stay as far away from Gulcasa as he possibly could without raising suspicions. That was part of it. But—but it was also the next morning, the way Gulcasa had come right out and said that the both of them were important enough to him that he couldn't live with himself if anything happened to them.

That did it. The façade was done for.

It was just—the thing was, _without _it, Nessiah was hard-pressed for any form of normalcy around Gulcasa now. He'd been able to keep the banter up before, been able to talk to his friend as though _friends _was all they were. Now…

He'd been completely unprepared for the waves of crippling _shyness. _He'd never felt _anything _like it, in any of his thousand-odd years. He'd never known that the lack of something to say or the inhibitions in the way of doing things could rise up and scream in his head and reduce him to tatters, scarlet and shaking and feeling utterly worthless.

Nessiah suddenly had much more sympathy for Roswell. Rejection was _terrifying._

Or—the concept of rejection. Whatever it was.

Worse yet, Gulcasa didn't seem to have noticed that anything was different. He'd still lean in close and put a hand on Nessiah's shoulder, not having any _idea _how something as simple as a touch would spread fire all over Nessiah's body and infect his mind and have him wonder how it would feel for those hands to tip his chin up for a kiss, or slide beneath his robes, or work to fight them off his body, or drive him to the cusp of insanity—

And as if things weren't bad enough _already, _Nessiah's wonderings easily slipped into imaginings, which was a lot worse than it sounded. He'd felt the touch of Gulcasa's callused hands on his bare skin before, and he'd actually experienced all those things because _Roswell _had done them, and it didn't take much for his mind to trade one touch for the other.

At that point, every one of his midnight-to-morning fantasies would crash down on his mind and he'd start to blush, start to shiver. The memory of the last battle with Marietta, that memory of Gulcasa he'd gone to so much trouble to preserve in perfect detail, had taken to haunting him like some sort of mad specter.

He couldn't take much more of it, not when just three or four innocent little touches from Gulcasa had the ability to drive everything but the need for sex from his mind. Something had to give, and soon. Nessiah just worried it was going to be his mind. Or the muscles of his right arm. Or the top layer of skin in certain sensitive areas. The gods knew he didn't have the balls to try making a real move on Gulcasa, and that he likely never would.

Hell, he'd protested when Kylier had said it, but her pronouncement of his life these days was pathetically accurate. He was either fantasizing over Gulcasa, wrestling naked with Roswell, or stuttering his lust into the corner of his room with his hands all over his own body and the door firmly locked.

And the worst part of it was that he _knew _he was supposed to be directing Yggdra's defenses. The guilt plagued him, but did nothing to change the fact that he was so sex-obsessed it was just sick. It would be completely mortifying, if it weren't so exhausting.

There was still about an hour to go before he had to return to the others.

Maybe he'd spend it just sitting here while the water went to ice. It would keep him awake, at least—he so badly wanted to drift off, since he was supposed to be cleaning himself up after the first predictable part of the program had concluded. He was just so tired, but…

Gods.

Something had to give.

--

"He's late," Gulcasa murmured, scowling at the sky. "Nessiah was supposed to be here over half an hour ago. What's keeping him?"

Yggdra also seemed worried. "Nessiah knows more than any of us about how important this training is… this doesn't feel right. What if…"

"Don't get all excited, people," Kylier interrupted, holding her hands in a T shape. "We can't just jump to conclusions that homicidal angels are behind everything. He's had a lot to deal with lately—I bet he just forgot, or something."

"A lot to deal with?" Gulcasa repeated.

"He's really been worrying over you," she told him, thinking _I hope it's just a little white lie if I omit a word from what Ness has _really _been doing…_ "Cut him a break, there, big guy."

Yggdra was squirming a little and Roswell and Elena exchanged resigned smiles. Kylier wanted to roll her eyes at them, but didn't. This was the price Gulcasa had to pay for being the only clueless one in the bunch, and for as long as Nessiah wanted him to _stay _the only clueless one, they couldn't really encourage his finding out.

_Not to mention that this'd be kind of a sucky way to find out, wouldn't it? "Oh, yeah, your best bud's been a little preoccupied because every spare minute he gets he's getting himself off to you"? If we've gotta broach the subject, we better put it more delicately than that. Ness'll kill us if we _scare _him off._

"At any rate, let's go look for him before we get too worried. Yggdra, Elena, you guys go look in the library. Gulcasa, check the forges. Roswell, come look through his rooms with me. We already know it'll be a waste of time scrying."

So they headed back to the castle and split up. Kylier and Roswell asked people they ran across if anyone had seen Nessiah; no one had noticed him in the halls over the past half-hour or so. The walk up to his rooms was very quiet, as few people were around. When Kylier pushed at the door, it creaked open—whether or not it had been bolted earlier, it wasn't now.

Just in case, she called "Cover up what you don't want seen" so he'd know he was getting an interruption, and then strode in, Roswell at her heels.

The bedroom was deserted, as was the little side room Nessiah was using as a place to dump his finished jewelry and any books he was halfway through. When Kylier ducked into the privy, she scowled and put her hands on her hips: Nessiah was sitting curled up in one end of the full tub.

"Couldn't you at _least _have said something when we came in?" she demanded. He didn't answer, and she saw as she came closer that his chest was rising and falling very slowly and evenly. He was soundly sleeping.

Kylier shook her head over him, called for Roswell, and got a few of the privy's fluffy towels to lay them out over the bedclothes. There was a thick sound of water cascading from the privy's direction, and then Roswell walked in with the arms of his court finery soaked to the shoulders, Nessiah dripping and dead to the world all cuddled up against his chest. Once Roswell had laid him down, she saw a wide wet patch across his front, too. Nessiah just snuggled into the softness of the towels, utterly shameless in sleep.

"I'll keep an eye on him while you go get changed," Kylier said, sighing. "Hurry, though. One of us is gonna have to man the door so the others won't get an eyeful when they come up here."

--

Nessiah woke hazily while the light outside was fading in the sunset. He felt a little confusion as to where he was and what was going on, then saw Roswell watching him from a perch on the side of the bed he slept on and started to remember.

"Gods, what…?" He tried to sit up, but found himself dizzy and rested back against the pillows. Roswell reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You fell asleep in the middle of your bath," the necromancer reminded him, straight-faced but with that amused glitter in his eyes. "Since then you've been asleep all day. I'm not surprised; what with everything that's been going on, you've been wearing yourself too thin."

Nessiah groaned and wanted to roll over. "…I wish all this would just stop…"

"The circumstances are rather unfortunate, aren't they?" Roswell patted his shoulder, trying to suppress his amusement. "You most certainly didn't choose to have all the sexual frustration you were spared until you met Gulcasa dumped on you at once."

Nessiah swatted Roswell's hand. "At least _someone's _laughing about it."

"The others are worried—with them not knowing exactly what condition you're in, we've just told them it's overwork and anxiety. Well, Gulcasa is worried and angry, but Kylier has been working to defuse the situation this afternoon. Yggdra went to untangle some political snarls, Zilva took over with Elena, and Gulcasa and Kylier have been down leading soldiers in weapon drills." Undeterred by the swat, Roswell teased a few strands of Nessiah's hair. "I've mostly been here, looking after you."

"I'm sorry I've been so much damned trouble," Nessiah managed with a sigh. "…I hope I get over this—insanity soon."

Roswell shrugged. "If you don't get over it or have it worn out of you, you'll learn to control it quickly. Especially if you use some of the time we work with our Artifacts to meditate; that should help stabilize you."

"…And of course I had to wake up when there's nothing happening except dinner and the castle's collective bedtime… I'll have nothing to keep me occupied. I should go back to sleep."

"You should," Roswell agreed.

Silence.

"…I really _would _like to have this worn out of me," Nessiah remarked.

"If you continue on at this pace—sex, training, sex, training, and so on—you're not going to be able to keep it up, in either sense. You'll get too chafed, and then you'll hurt too much to get turned on."

"Spoken as though from experience," Nessiah observed dryly.

Roswell didn't reply to that, just raising his eyes heavenwards. As if Nessiah didn't know he'd had his own share of exploits before the war.

"Anyway, until then, why not have a go at wearing it out of me?" Nessiah kept his voice light and casual, even managing a slight smirk at his lover.

Skeptical blue eyes fixed on him for a moment before Roswell laughed. "And you used to accuse _me _of having a one-track mind."

"If anyone can, it's you," he insisted—his tone was teasing, even a little playful, and he could be happy with that. "And, Roswell—be thorough. I'm already tired, I don't want to look forward to a night of abject boredom, and this will make sure I sleep. I don't want to be able to _move _afterwards, you understand?"

Roswell was silent for a moment, and then gentle fingers teased at Nessiah's hair again. "Are we speaking of the sixth time, then, _a ghrá?"_

"I'm too tired already to be nervous." Not exactly a lie—there were flutters in his belly, but not the kind of churning that made him panic and struggle. "There's more than one thing I want worn out of me, Roswell, and we take the opportunities as they come. …The only problem is that I just got clean."

Another moment of silence, and then Roswell shifted to press his lips to Nessiah's shoulder. "If you really can't move afterwards, I'll help you wash up," he offered softly. "More relaxing and restful than a massage. Does that sound good to you?"

"…Alright, then."

After that there were very few words.

--

Much later, when Kylier entered the room, Nessiah was curled up across the bed, once again out for the count. Roswell was there, too—thankfully he was half-dressed, where Nessiah was still naked. And it looked like Roswell was still in the middle of gently and carefully washing him down, running a wet cloth softly over the contours of his body.

Shaking her head, Kylier closed the door and walked to join him. "Y'know, I see how you are around people and I think, yeah, okay, big dignified sorcerer among the laymen. And then you come out with something like this, and I have to wonder: What _did _you do with that aloof guy I used to know who ran with the Royal Army?"

"Aloof? Not really—caught between some bad things, is more like." Roswell didn't even look up; he just kept washing Nessiah as though it was the most natural thing in the world to get walked in on cleaning incriminating evidence off your sleeping lover.

"I have to ask—where'd you pick up _this _particular skill?" Kylier pointed, raising an eyebrow.

"Whatever perverse thing you're thinking, it's really nothing of that sort," Roswell said calmly. "You may have heard—back when Rosary rejected me three years ago, I was in a right state. Tried to kill myself, and might have succeeded if I'd known that the way you're supposed to slit your wrists is to cut vertically elbow to wrist, not across. I wouldn't eat or drink, or even get out of bed, unless I was told to, and half the time I didn't have the strength. My parents took care of me then; they wound up doing this a lot. And me all of eighteen years old. They handled it gracefully; they loved me, so they had to. I picked some of it up watching them, and some of it learning to heal. Nessiah's not an invalid, but he's certainly indisposed at the moment, and he didn't want to spend the night coated in sweat."

Kylier was silent for several minutes. "Uh—okay, wow, shit. That's really… God, what are you supposed to say to something like that?"

Roswell shrugged. "I didn't share because I wanted sympathy—it was because you asked, and as long as Nessiah trusts you, an honest answer is what you deserve."

She sat on the bed, watching as he carefully continued his ritual. Even with the leftover flushing that was a telltale sign of sex, Nessiah looked so small and pale and fragile huddled into the sheets. It worried her.

"Man, I just… really don't know," she said at last. "All this… the shit keeps hitting the ceiling, and how. Nessiah's so… he has us, and the contracts, and we've got our Artifacts so that people can't walk all over us… but when it comes down to it? That crazy Marietta chick? Nessiah's the only one that can deal with her, and if whoever's the ringleader has more like her… God, the last time he had to fight her it nearly killed him, and he was at the top of his game. With all this crazy stuff happening, I just don't know…"

"You and I can only do all we can," Roswell replied. "We may not really enjoy it, but the hurts in Nessiah run much too deep for either of us to fix. Unless there's someone who can reach deeper into his heart than you or I, he has to struggle out of the pit of his past on his own."

Kylier made a face. "Well, I sure don't like it."

Roswell's smile was bitter, almost a grimace. "…I don't, either."

--

_He was running in the dark, out of breath but unable to stop, his wrist cold from where —'s hand had clamped over it. His steps splashed, sending freezing water splattering in all directions, making his bare skin prickle._

_"Nessiah-dono, this way!" Hearing Elena's voice, he turned towards it, pain shooting up his side raggedly as he crashed through the dark. Even over the racket he was making, he could still hear other steps in the distance. Purposeful steps. Terrifying steps._

_"Nessiah-dono!" And there Elena was—he'd really heard her voice. Sobbing, shaking, he dove for her and nearly collapsed, letting her bear him up._

_"Just until you catch your breath," she told him, smiling kindly, and the pain in his chest began to ease as she spoke the words. "You have to hurry, now; he's coming. Keep running until you find the others. Don't worry; you'll be safe with them. I won't let him get past me."_

_Nessiah _wanted _to protest, he did, but he could hear those steps coming closer and his terror choked his resolve. As soon as he could stand it, he fled._

_Next, he came upon Yggdra and Kylier, Roswell and Celina. The four of them formed a curving defensive line that opened to let him past; each of them wore a determined expression._

_"Hurry to safety," Yggdra was telling him. "If he gets past Elena's traps, she'll join us here, and we'll fight for you—but you have to be somewhere safe; we can't spare the effort to shield you, too!"_

_"Everything's going to be just fine," Celina agreed. "We aren't going to let him through our barrier, so don't worry about us."_

_"We'll bind him," Roswell said gently, a bottomless warmth in his eyes as Nessiah held his gaze._

_"And then we'll teach him not to touch anyone, ever again." Kylier's eyes were bright with battle light; she was clearly relishing the struggle to come._

_"But—" Nessiah couldn't help but worry; he couldn't help but wonder if it was really enough. How was Kylier supposed to contribute to a magical barrier? She wanted to fight, and Elena had no magic either, and if the two of them crossed a barrier, then—_

_"Hurry!" they told him, and the urgency in their voices made the fear rise up all over again, until all he could do was run._

_The steps kept getting closer and closer. And then there was cold laughter, the kind of laughter that made his body seize and falter—and Elena's piercing scream._

_Nessiah's legs folded beneath him, sending him crashing into the bare few inches of water coating the floor with a heavy splash. He had to go back. He had to go back and save her. But he couldn't move._

_"It'll all be okay, Nessa."_

_Warmth bloomed at his side, and suddenly Gulcasa was there, kneeling next to him. He was dressed in full ceremonial armor; even without his dragon mount, he looked fearsome and impressive indeed._

_"Just stay here. None of us will let him reach you."_

_"But—but—"_

_"I won't allow you to be harmed, even if it means my life," Gulcasa said, and he straightened up, a brave splash of red and gold against the infinite blackness. "I love you."_

_Those words tightened around Nessiah's chest and choked him. He had the insane desire to confess his feelings right back, but his own words of love were tangled in the rising fear that his friends wouldn't be enough, that he would have to watch them fall, that Elena was already suffering a fate far worse than death. That he was going to watch Gulcasa struggle to defeat the nightmare of his past, the canker draining his soul, and find his strength to be insufficient. That all he would be able to do would be to watch, because he was too weak, because the magic in him was buried beneath terror and love and baser, more shameful emotions._

_"Just stay behind me," Gulcasa told him._

_That was when Nessiah woke up._

--

He was late to breakfast that morning, but he made it down on his own. The mess hall was bustling and assaulting his every sense, as usual; he gathered some semblance of food and tried to find his friends amid the chaos.

Gulcasa and Yggdra were at the head table, a place he knew from experience he wasn't welcome. Nessiah frowned as he noticed that they were both red-faced and couldn't seem to look each other in the eyes. While he wondered what that was about, he couldn't really concentrate on it for long. He had more important things to worry over.

At last, he caught sight of Kylier, Roswell, and Elena at the end of the far table, and struggled through the crowd to join them.

"Wow, you're actually awake," Kylier said as he sat down. "You haven't managed that all week, have you?"

"Kylier…" Roswell shook his head, and she fell silent.

"It's… alright." Nessiah sighed and rested his face in his hands. "She's got a right to say whatever she wants… I know I've been a bit scattered lately. Gods only know how much success I'll have, but I'm going to try to stop brooding over unimportant things and get my head in the game."

"But—but, Nessiah-dono, your feelings for Gulcasa aren't unimportant! You have every right to…" Elena began; he halted her by holding up a hand and shaking his head a little.

"Maybe that's true, but—we're in a situation now where if I can't concentrate on helping you all become stronger, and maintaining my strength, Yggdra could easily lose her life… meaning the human world will lose its ability to redeem itself." Nessiah stared down at his tray. "…We all know that I'm the only one of us who can compete with Marietta. And it seems as though she's acting on the orders of a superior. I can't just coast; I have to bring myself up to standard as well. I won't—stop feeling the way I do about Gulcasa before it's over. But I can't afford to continue on in a state of confusion like this.

"Roswell… I'll need you to take over for me with Yggdra. Everyone else knows what they're doing, but she needs a teacher who knows magic. Run her through the elements, and teach her Sagitta Magica. I doubt she'll be able to manage more than one, but it's a good spell to know."

Roswell nodded, looking slightly taken aback. "I have no problem with it, since I know how to use my Artifact—but, Nessiah, what's bringing this on?"

"Today…" Nessiah raised his head to look at the others directly. "Today is when _I _start training in earnest."

**(tsuzuku)**


	19. the juggernaut machine

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

He could've been watching Gulcasa there, a bright splash of flame stitching up and down the endless green of the fields. Or perhaps Kylier, finished with her day's scrying and now boxing with Elena, trading velveteen blows. Or maybe Roswell, patiently directing Yggdra in her breathing and the movements of her scepter as she struggled to kindle the magic.

Sitting almost perfectly still on the low, haphazardly stone-cobbled wall, Nessiah could've been watching any of them. But he wasn't—his focus was entirely internal, and he sat weaver-style with his palms up on his thighs and his spellbook resting on his crossed ankles with even his sight spells dimmed and distant. He was deeper in meditation than he'd ever been, stilling and stoking the inner fire of his power, the wellspring of his resolve.

If he'd been just a bit more aware of his surroundings, he might have noticed—but he was far too absorbed until it was much too late.

"Hey-ho!"

The cheerful shout right in his ear and the thin arms that gripped him around the waist nearly made Nessiah jump out of his skin—even _after _he recognized Nietzsche there.

"Oh, my _heart! _What are you _doing?" _he demanded a bit shrilly, clapping one hand to his chest as he whirled to face her.

Nietzsche didn't let go, but she looked up at him with big, sad eyes. "Ne-ess, Nietzsche just wanted to see what everybody was doing…"

"That's—that's perfectly fine, just… please don't sneak up on me like that _ever _again," he managed, and gently pried her arms loose.

With his approval, Nietzsche let out a happy cry and levered herself over the short wall of stone, rolling down the hill with a squeal. Nessiah just watched her, waiting for his pulse to steady. He knew what this was about—for the past several days she'd been coming to pester him and the others while they trained, and although she never put it in as many words, he could tell that she was still after a pactio of her own.

And no matter how many times he tried to tell her that it wasn't a good idea, Nietzsche never seemed to hear it. Nessiah wasn't sure what he was supposed to do to discourage her. He didn't have much prolonged experience with children, and it was bad enough already that he'd dragged the partners he already had into everything. They were competent, and he could trust them to handle themselves—Elena particularly. But Nietzsche… more than anyone except Yggdra, Nessiah really worried that if she stayed involved, she was going to be seriously injured. He doubted that whoever was behind all this in Asgard would care to spare a child.

How was he supposed to communicate that to someone like Nietzsche?

"Back again?" Kylier and Elena had stopped trading blows to face the girl, the former grinning and the latter giggling helplessly. "Jeez, what's it gonna take for you to get bored with us here?"

Nietzsche just beamed at them and struck a victory pose, which made Kylier and Elena laugh even more helplessly.

All three of them turned in surprise when there was a loud cry of _"Damn _it!" from Yggdra and Roswell's direction. Gulcasa stopped fighting the air, and even Nessiah had to struggle not to smile.

"Did you just _swear?" _There was glee in Kylier's voice as she stared at Yggdra in awe. "But you _never _swear! What's going on?"

"I _almost _had it—" Yggdra was bright red with frustration, and it sounded to Nessiah like she didn't know whether to scream, cry, or kick something. Tightening her grip on her scepter, she gave a flail-armed, wild gesture of irritation and surrender, and stood fuming.

Nessiah shook his head and released his restorative spell, spreading his wings wide for an updraft and letting it carry him down to the others.

"Nietzsche, if you're going to be noisy, you may want to do so at a distance," he said calmly. "Yggdra doesn't have very much magic, and the spell she's trying to learn right now is going to take all her concentration as well as most of her power. She's been at it for a while; have a little pity and shoo, please."

"Shooing as requested," Kylier replied with a laugh and a good-natured salute. Elena bowed and trailed after her, and the remorseful Nietzsche followed them.

"I-I'm sorry. It's just so—" Yggdra grimaced and hid her face in her hands.

"It's alright—I know how it feels," Roswell soothed, giving her long hair a stroke. "Nessiah, would you give us a hand for a little while?"

"You only had to ask," Nessiah told him with a smile, and walked closer to Yggdra, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Carefully, now. Ground and center. It's true you haven't much power, but when you're this frustrated, it still might escape you in ways you won't like."

Yggdra sighed and nodded and closed her eyes. Her expression evened out a bit once she had—not much, but enough that Nessiah could tell she wasn't bordering on tears of fury anymore.

Nodding, he padded through the grass to stand behind her, then made a face. She was a few inches taller than him, which would make this awkward, but it was the way he'd been taught, and the only way he knew to teach. Growling a little to himself, Nessiah rose up on his toes and leaned against Yggdra's back, stretching to place his hand over hers.

Yggdra started a little and glanced back towards him; Nessiah realized that he was probably pressed against her fairly firmly, and blushed.

She must have known what he was embarrassed about, because she just smiled. "It's alright—I don't mind." And then she giggled. "It's not like you'd have dishonorable intentions anyway, is it?"

_I suppose I should consider this to be one of the benefits of being completely unattracted to women. _But be that as it may, it didn't make him feel any more comfortable with it. And to be honest, that annoyed him a little. Yggdra looked a bit like Paltina, and acted the way she'd started out, but the resemblance ended there. She wouldn't misconstrue his meaning, and even if she did, she just didn't have it in her to hurt him the way that Paltina had.

_Small steps, small victories. _Kylier would probably be telling him that if she hadn't gone off with Elena and Nietzsche. A few hundred years ago, Nessiah had still been shying away from any physical contact, and wouldn't have been able to bear even voluntarily touching a woman in any way for more than a heartbeat or so. He should just be happy that he _could_ do this with Yggdra, awkward or not. Or concentrate on the fact that, like the others, Yggdra accepted and saw the advantages of his sexual preferences.

Or concentrate on Yggdra's magic lesson, which was the reason he was touching her in the first place. That seemed like the best idea.

"This will take a great deal of energy," he told her. "Let it. The anger you were feeling before—the righteous anger I know you've experienced on several occasions. Recall it, but don't let it control you. Channel it, and the magic you feel rising with it, down your arms and into the Scepter the way Roswell and I have taught you."

Yggdra closed her eyes again and focused hard. Nessiah sensed her internal energies change and flow, warmth gathering to beneath his hand in hers, flowing past it into the metal of her scepter, which would amplify it.

"The incantation, now—and with it, exert every ounce of your will."

He felt her tremble, felt her hands bunch, as she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sagitta Magica, una lucis!"

A thin ribbon of light shot from the tip of the scepter, flying straight for a few feet before it fizzled out. Yggdra stared after it in surprise.

"I… I did it! I mean—Nessiah, you did most of it—but I made it light, just for a little bit! I can't believe it…"

Nessiah released her hand and eased down. "Nonsense. All I did was give you the last push. You would have gotten there on your own, in another hour or two of sweat and irritation. But better you know now, isn't it?"

Yggdra nodded, then staggered. Nessiah moved to support her, and found his knees buckling under her weight until Roswell came to catch them both.

"I'm—sorry—" Yggdra managed, holding a hand to her head dizzily.

"Don't worry about it," Roswell said with a smile. "It's not your fault that Nessiah's a frail little thing—nor is it his. And you haven't ever used magic of that kind of power before. Sit a moment—rest."

That last was directed to both Yggdra and Nessiah, and though Nessiah hesitated for a moment, wanting to retort that despite being a "frail little thing" he could absolutely debilitate Roswell in bed, he thought better of it and sat a moment after Yggdra did.

"Compared to the kind of battle magic Nessiah can use, Sagitta Magica is a weak and basic spell—particularly when you can't summon many arrows. It only has about as much strength as a physical blow and whatever you have in magical reserve. But it has much more range, and you can direct it to some extent. So it's a good thing for any beginner to learn."

Yggdra nodded seriously. "Roswell… I've done a little reading on magical artifacts; would there be any way for me to augment my natural abilities with the right kind?"

"Absolutely," Nessiah answered before Roswell could. "But I wouldn't recommend it. You grow dependent on them after a while, until you find yourself helpless without them." He lifted the Revelation with a wry smile. "I'm attached enough to this, and it's not even an artifact per se. It's an item of magical power because I put so much of my power and myself into it, and I'm much stronger with it. Etherion, too. But so much of the way I work magic has been tailored to getting around the Chains of Conviction, there's not really much I can do."

"So far you can use the Cura and Sagitta Magica spells, and briefly conjure each of the elements," Roswell said. "Apprentices can spend up to their first year working on those kinds of spells, so you're in good stead. Non-combat magic will be more helpful to you as Queen, anyway. With that and your Artifact, your rule will likely go much smoother."

Yggdra smiled, her expression softening. "I certainly hope you're right."

The warmth of that smile, and her hope, had Roswell smiling as well—and coaxed a more crooked smile out of Nessiah, too. Perhaps that was what it would come down to in the end, he decided. Weighing Yggdra's innate aura of kindness and healing against the infection of his memories, and hoping that the former would prove the stronger.

"Back when you were trying to persuade me into a contract, you expressed the hope that your Artifact would aid you in ruling—and in a left-handed way, you got your wish," Nessiah said aloud. "If you find a way to introduce it simply as your Artifact, you can use it in conference with your people to be more sensitive to the emotional climate. Debates will go much better that way." Something like that would be both her style and his—while he would use knowledge of such an emotional climate to manipulate the Fantasinian nobles into doing his bidding, Yggdra would use it to address their fears and present her ideas in the most advantageous manner.

"Presenting it just as my Artifact, though…" Yggdra shook her head. "That may take some doing—and a great deal of explanation."

The three of them were silent for a moment, considering that.

"If this persists…" Roswell ventured at last, his expression grave. "You know we're going to have to let the general public in on it sooner or later, after all. Observant civilians have no doubt noticed the amount of military maneuvers and wondered, since Fantasinia is no longer supposed to _have _a military."

Yggdra nodded, a bit reluctantly. "I know—I've considered it before. I'm a bit worried about how to break the news, especially to some of our allies. It could potentially cause a great panic in Lombardia, and cause its church state to crumble completely, if I simply announced that Fantasinia in general and myself in particular have become heavenly targets. Furthermore… the world will find out that our army and Bronquia's haven't been… completely forthright about the events of the war. It will call for councils and debates by the dozens, and bringing the heads of every country in on the finer details of the war… among other things, it's going to put Nessiah in a great deal of danger—I can't see most states being exactly happy with what he's done. And Lombardia will have a field day and reinstate something like the witch hunts about the sole fact that he's a fallen angel. I'm—loath to take those lengths, because of that."

Nessiah raised his eyebrows. "Maybe that's true—I haven't thought about it as much as I probably should." He'd taken his security for granted, between Gulcasa and his friendship, however tenuous, with the former Royal Army. "But if it comes to that, I can defend myself, and more importantly, some of your alliances are _already _crumbling over these events. Embellia, for instance, is going to want to know why Nietzsche isn't available to begin her training—that ambassador was _incensed _when she said she was more needed here."

"It's a worry," Roswell agreed. "As for myself—well, I can't speak for Rosary, but the people of Branthèse already know the truth of the war. And they accept Nessiah, because I have. They know what I owe him—if not the precise details having to do with it."

Which was well enough, Nessiah knew. Roswell had a bit of a reputation already in Verlaine, but he just couldn't see them liking the fact that their lord had taken the cause of their near destruction as a lover. _Whatever _the reason.

Yggdra shook her head. "Verlaine is the one country that Fantasinia and Bronquia _don't _have to worry about. I know you've been wondering where Rosary has gone, since you haven't seen her around recently—a few days ago she came and asked me if she could take a sabbatical of sorts to fill the Branthèse and Esmeralda houses in on what's going on. The situation being what it is, I don't doubt that we'll have Verlaine's complete support. Your people—and Rosary's—are just that loyal to the two of you, Roswell."

Roswell smiled. "That's a good thing to know."

"It certainly is," Nessiah mused, catching a few strands of his hair between his fingers and rolling them into a dull gold curl before drawing it out and releasing it. "Who would have thought that _Rosary _would choose to take such a step? Given her usual attitude, her maturity in this matter surprises me—no offense meant, Roswell."

Yggdra giggled. "Well—Rosary hasn't been altogether happy being shut out of our training, and being unable to adequately drill the soldiers. The way she put it when we spoke was that she might not be able to do much because she hasn't a contract of her own, but she'd be damned if she had to just sit and twiddle her thumbs while the rest of us sorted things out."

Nessiah had to laugh. That sounded like Rosary, all right—stubborn, petulant, and determined to have her piece.

Steps through the grass made them turn to see that Gulcasa was approaching them.

"Is magic time over, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "If it is and it's safe to bother you, mightn't we be getting back to training? Time's ticking on by while we're content to waste it."

"Ah—of course," Yggdra said with a nod, and stood, brushing her skirts free of grass. "We should call the others back, too."

Roswell got up and helped Nessiah to his feet; once standing, the angel turned off towards where Kylier and Elena were making a show of mock-fighting for Nietzsche.

"Oi—_Kylier!_ Break time is done for the day, so if you don't mind?"

The three of them hurried over, and Nessiah turned his attention to the Undine girl. "There really isn't much to entertain you here," he told her frankly. "You would be better off heading back to the castle; you'll definitely be bored otherwise."

Nietzsche shook her head cheerfully. "Nope—Nietzsche's fine right here!"

Nessiah suppressed the exasperated curse—how was he ever supposed to get _rid _of her?—and just turned towards his partners. "…Right. Now… I'd been thinking that we should practice a little more of the magical transfer, as we haven't done much with that. Aside from Roswell and Kylier, you all still find it so uncomfortable that you have to waste a few seconds accustoming yourself to it, which we can't afford to waste in a situation like—"

The feel of the air changed so swiftly that Nessiah had nearly no warning. As it was, he bristled and whipped the Revelation open instantly, crying _"Everyone __**get down**__!"_ and struggling to muster the magic quickly. Everyone except Roswell sank into the grass—Nietzsche following them after a confused pause—the necromancer only staying upright to grasp Nessiah's shoulders, holding him steady and offering a steady stream of his _own _power.

_"Flans Paries Aeriales!"_

The barrier very nearly didn't manifest in time—barely had it appeared in an arc above them when a thick bolt of power shot from the sky above to crash into it. Nessiah swayed beneath its force and would have fallen if Roswell's arms hadn't come around him, holding him tightly. He managed to maintain the shield until the judgment bolt was spent, then let it go, shaking and gasping.

"I suppose you think you should be congratulated for that."

The voice was petulant, but held the slightest bit of grudging admiration. Nessiah looked up to see Marietta descending from the shreds of a cloud above them, a full platoon of soldiers behind her. Either they'd been using the cloud cover to hide and wait, or they'd just arrived; Nessiah was fairly sure it was the latter.

"Not really," he managed, pushing against Roswell's shoulder to gain his own ground. "An archangel's aura of power is very distinct; I doubt you could cloak it for very long. All angels have that little halo of divinity—well, all but yours truly, of course." He bowed a little, managing to drum up some sarcasm. "It announces your presence right away."

"Hmph." Marietta curled her lip as she descended, giving her wings a testy little flap as she touched down in the grass. Her soldiers fell behind her in ranks, suspicious scowls adorning what Nessiah could see of their faces. "No games this time, traitor. Your queen dies here, now, today. Defend her if you think you can." And she lifted her staff, beginning to chant the incantation to a spell.

_No time…!_ Nessiah gritted his teeth and passed his power through each of his partners, carefully judging how long he might be able to stand. "Keep behind me for a moment," he murmured to them, and laid both hands to the covers of the Revelation as a flurry of pages left it to orbit his body. Hoping desperately that this would work, and buy him even the slightest amount of time to prepare, he pointed the fingers of his left hand at Marietta and her cavalcade. "Ad summam ex armatio!"

A sudden gust of wind erupted from his hand to slice at the angelic soldiers, many of whom cried out as they found their swords and halberds ripped from their hands. Marietta lost grip on her staff again but managed to fish it out of the air before it flew too far—red-faced with fury, she began her incantation over again.

"Just try to break through their ranks for now—get Yggdra to safety however you can—raise the alarm and try to bring reinforcements!" Nessiah told the others rapidly. "I'll distract them for as long as I can! _Go!"_

And he launched himself forward recklessly, flinging magic as he tore into the sky. "Unus fulgor concidens noctem, in mea manu ens inimicum edat! _Fulguratio Albicans!"_

Behind him, there were many cries of _Adeat _as Artifacts were invoked. Nessiah paid the sound little mind, wildly trying to come up with a plan to incapacitate or drive back Marietta's soldiers so that he could take her on alone. It was the only way he might pound defeat into her enough to permanently discourage her.

He wasn't just fighting _this _battle, he knew. If he didn't win it by a great enough margin, she would come back again, and again, and again, until she succeeded in her aims. And he couldn't allow that to happen.

Marietta rose into the air after him as Nessiah watched Gulcasa and Kylier plow into the ranks of soldiers, both haloed in the aura of his magic. Roswell stood in front of Yggdra with his Ankh in his hand, apparently ready to either shield her or blast the angels before him. And Elena…

She had called her Artifact, her _real _Artifact, and was madly playing a gavotte that Nessiah half-recognized, the melody both fevered and seductive. Even as the notes blast from the panpipe, a detail of Marietta's soldiers turned to mechanically attack their fellows, their movements stiff and uncoordinated. Beneath Elena's will, honed in training with Nessiah and Zilva, they were little more than helpless puppets dancing on the strings of her song.

_Maybe—maybe I can pull this off just leaving things to them…_

"It's you and me now," Marietta yelled. She looked infuriated that he'd managed to stall her casting thus far, and was panting and red-faced, but a cruel smile hardened her features in a way that Nessiah did _not _like in the least. "I'll teach you to betray our beloved Asgard, you bastard traitor!"

Nessiah shuddered at the memories of what she was capable of doing, and began a rapid chant himself. But Marietta just raised her staff, and he realized he might as well not bother. She was already finished preparations for her attack.

"Uphold the ancient pact… seal mine enemy's fate with ice! _Diamond Dust!"_

Pale blue light shot from the ground to hit Marietta's wings, and she wheeled them helplessly, floundering as heavy chunks of ice and frost formed on the outside of her feathers. Nessiah's chest turned over in disbelief, and he glanced around while Marietta tried to stay aloft.

There. There, beneath him. Nietzsche was a bit behind his partners, stretched up on her tail to nearly human height, a Tactics Card clutched and raised in her small hand.

_No. _Nessiah's heart caught painfully as Marietta shook free of the last of the ice. "Nietzsche, _no! _Get out of here! This is no place for someone like you—head back to the castle _now, _or…!"

"I'll teach you to interfere with me, _brat!" _Marietta seethed. "Veniant spiritus aeriales fulgurientes, cum fulguration glet tempestas austrina…!"

Nessiah froze, and he hovered indecisively, not knowing what to do. He could avoid the attack easily, try to block it, but if he dispelled it, his partners might be caught in the deflected blast. And Nietzsche…

He wheeled and banked and dropped desperately, trying to reach Nietzsche before Marietta's magic would. She hadn't moved, just kept watching him and Marietta with wide eyes.

_"Jovis Tempestas Fulguriens!"_

There was light, and a great crack, and the earth splitting apart. And pain. And the sensation of being battered, thrown this way and that, in a great current of wind—and pain, and dizziness, and the feel of falling, falling…

--

The next thing Nessiah was aware of was the dark.

There was nothing but darkness. Nothing, no awareness, no _anything. _He couldn't see, could barely _feel, _he couldn't _see—_

Knots of panic seethed and writhed within him, and he frantically tried to keep them within limits. He could feel—it was just that he was in so much pain that the sensations were dim. He was lying flat on his back on an uneven earthy surface—he was exhausted and the familiar weight of metal lay across his wrists and arms and face—and he had nearly no feeling from about the middle of his thighs down. What feeling there _was, _he didn't much like. He could tell that there was something heavy resting on him there, and that alone made him want to panic completely, but he fought it back. If he lacked feeling from some part of his waist down, he could panic—Flone could _not _fix paralysis, but broken bones and crushed flesh were chump change where she was concerned.

He was exhausted, and the weight of metal—of course, of course, his spell had run out. He'd been here for a while, then. It made his head hurt, but he reconstructed his sight spells with painstaking slowness.

There wasn't a lot of light, but there was _just _enough for Nessiah to make out the faint outlines of things. That was all it took; his achluophobia eased, allowing him to breathe.

He tried to speak, but the best he could manage was a weak groan and cough.

"Ness? Ness, are you awake? Nietzsche was really worried…"

Nessiah tried to turn, but even that small movement was more effort than he could manage. "Nietzsche…? Where…?"

"Nietzsche's right here!" She popped into his view, leaning over to make sure he could see her. She seemed dusty and a bit bruised here or there, but otherwise unharmed. A great anxiety lifted from Nessiah's chest as he saw that, one he hadn't known was there until it was gone.

He coughed again, and struggled to sit up for a moment before deciding better of it. "What… happened? Where are we?"

Nietzsche shook her head. "Nietzsche… thinks that when that Marietta used her spell, it cracked the ground wide open. Both of us fell in, and then—Nietzsche isn't sure. Nietzsche _thinks _there was some kind of earthquake, and so the crack got closed over with rocks and things…"

_An underground grotto…? _Stranger things had been known to happen. Marietta's spell must have blown it open, and the aftershocks had caused a cave-in after he and Nietzsche had fallen. There was still a bit of light, meaning that there were cracks between the stone and earth that now formed the cavern's "ceiling". That _also _meant that they wouldn't run out of air anytime soon.

But for his spell to have run out, they had to have been here for… around half an hour maybe, perhaps a little less than that. And with the others in so much danger on the surface… Nessiah's belly twisted with fear. They had to get back out, _now._

Straining, he reached with his fingertips and shook with relief as they brushed the familiar contours of pages. At least he had the Revelation here. But he was in no condition to cast magic now—he was so drained that he had perhaps two or three spells in him before he had to start pulling power from his life's energy. Worse, there was—what was it, a boulder?—across his legs, far too heavy for him to move. Bracing himself, he curled his toes experimentally—and nearly fainted from the pain. No major muscles or nerves were torn, but—he was hurt badly, much worse than he'd been in some time.

There was absolutely no way he could get them out of this. Which left only one possible route of escape.

"Nietzsche…" he managed, struggling to keep the strain from his voice. "Are you still… interested in your own pactio?"

--

"What?" Nietzsche didn't know what she'd been expecting, but _that _wasn't it. "What, _what?"_

Nessiah didn't answer her for a moment. He was very pale, and his face was tight, his breathing uneven. Nietzsche was sure he was trying to hide how much it hurt, but she also saw that he wasn't doing a very good job.

"Just look around," he said softly, and shuddered. "Nietzsche, _I can't get us out of here the way I am now. _Even if I could move, I know I'm too weak to so much as _stand. _All I have left is magic, and I don't even have much of that. So, listen to me. You're the only one who can save us now. I know we've—been here awhile. The others are—probably too busy fighting to help us, and we have to join them, or…" She could hear in his voice that he was terrified it was _already _too late. "So… you need to be stronger than you are. Strong enough for both of us—strong enough to save Yggdra. Will you… consent to contract with me?"

Nietzsche didn't know _what _to think. She'd been begging him relentlessly for so long, and _now _he was offering? But he'd always said that he wouldn't drag her into everything unless—

—unless he had no choice.

It hit her then, and hit her hard—she was cold with it, and couldn't help but shiver. Yggdra was the one who wanted to change everything, to make a better world, and if the angels didn't understand that—whatever they were afraid of, they wouldn't listen to reason. And that Marietta… well, even _Nietzsche _could see that she was totally carried away. She wasn't going to stop until _everyone _was dead.

Her hands went automatically to the Transmigragem. If anything happened to her… if anything happened to _this… _it would mean the end, for _real. _Everyone in Embellia—and all the Undines _everywhere—_wouldn't have any way back anymore. Their entire _people _would…

For the first time, Nietzsche began to realize just what it meant for her to be a queen.

"…Okay. Nietzsche will do it, don't worry!"

Nessiah didn't answer her right away, and Nietzsche realized he was trying to get a better hold on his spellbook. She moved it for him, so that its open pages were right under his hand. He sighed, relaxed a little, then winced. Nietzsche was close enough to see his muscles bunch, and then bright lines of light were sweeping over the ground to form a magic circle.

He didn't move after that aside from struggling to breathe—of course, how _could _he move, trapped like that—so Nietzsche inched a little closer, then a little more. It was a little embarrassing, but—Nietzsche just put it from her mind, reminding herself of how strong Nessiah was trying to be, even so hurt and tired. It was only a very simple thing that was left for her to do.

So Nietzsche pushed her hair back over her shoulders, leaned down, and laid her lips to his.

All of a sudden there was this bright light welling up around her body and his—and Nietzsche got a strange feeling like she could do _anything_ as long as she tried—and that if she could do _anything, _then she needed to protect Nessiah—because no matter how he tried to hide it, he was so hurt, so _scared—_

The light faded a little and the card Nietzsche had been dreaming of _forever _appeared. Without Nessiah having to tell her anything, she sat up and swiped it out of the air, holding it tightly.

"You don't have to worry about anything anymore," she told him, and held the card into the air. _"Adeat!"_

--

From where he lay, Nessiah could barely see what Nietzsche was doing—he just knew that there was an immense surge of energy as she raised her evoked Artifact into the air, then a bright beam of… it _had _to be more than just light that issued from it, because it blasted straight through the earth above them, punching a hole right up to the storm-torn sky.

Nessiah could hear the sounds of battle, and relief shook him to the core to know that Gulcasa and the others were still putting up a fight. Nietzsche turned back towards him, and he noted that her Artifact was what looked like a ring of blue crystal, a bit too ornamental to be considered a chakram. What looked like large droplet shapes formed a quarter-armed cross within its circle, with a sphere about the size of Nietzsche's small fist at its center. It was still glittering—Nessiah would've thought it was simply cast-off energy from the beam it had emitted, but as Nietzsche brought the crest closer to him, his exhaustion began to abate. His body stopped shaking uselessly, and he could feel new strength rushing through his blood until he could consider himself at least _reasonably _fresh.

His magical reserves were still almost completely dry, but… it seemed that Nietzsche was using her Artifact's properties without even having to be told what they were. Once they were out of this mess, Nessiah would have to investigate the cause of her instinctive knowledge.

If he could get them out of it.

Without thinking, he tried to sit up, and collapsed back to the ground with a gasp. The pain shot up his body with much more force now, worse than he could bear.

"Nietzsche? Nessiah! Oh, thank God—"

He turned at the sound of Yggdra's voice, and saw that she was at the edge of the crevice Nietzsche had blasted open. Even as he watched, she threw her legs over the side and half-slid down the rubble of upturned earth and stone until she hit the grotto floor, running towards them with her scepter thrust forward.

"Nietzsche, move!" The Undine did, pushing herself away from Nessiah with an effort as Yggdra's face tightened with concentration. "Unum spiritus lucis, coeuntes sagittent inimicum! Sagitta Magica, una lucis!"

A thin beam of pale gold light issued from the tip of the scepter, punching through the boulder that covered Nessiah's legs. It cracked, and crumbled into many smaller pieces. Nessiah let out a low moan at the release of pressure; his legs protested their lack of blood as the pain spread from its initial point of impact all the way down to his toes and up to his waist.

Then Yggdra and Nietzsche were there, clearing the bits of rock and gravel away. "Oh, God, are you okay? Can you sit up, or stand? This looks awful…"

In answer, he tried to push himself up again, gritting his teeth with the amount of exertion it took. Yggdra slid an arm around his thin shoulders to help support him, and he leaned on her as he slowly folded his legs at his side. It took a lot of effort not to cry out, but he didn't let much more than a whimper or two escape.

"I'll be fine for a while—adrenaline—but if I don't see a healer soon…" He let the sentence hang, hoping neither Yggdra or Nietzsche would notice that he was shaking. New energy or no, the injuries were _serious, _and in ten or fifteen minutes he doubted he'd even be able to move his legs at all. The skirts of his robes were badly torn—never a good thing, although he had more important things to worry about than his modesty—and through them, he could see that his skin was already blotched and marbled purple past his knees. There were a few cuts and quite a bit of blood, but the internal bleeding was massive. And he knew the bones in the upper part of his legs were at _least _fractured.

It hurt, but for now he could move. And by all the gods, he couldn't waste time wondering how much worse he would make his injuries with movement—there was still a battle raging above, and he had to do everything he could, or all the humans fighting would die.

"Help me up," he managed, and although Yggdra hesitated, she helped him drag himself to his feet. Nessiah staggered for a moment, absorbing the shock of standing in his battered state, and settled. His heart was already beating hard; the pain was diminishing temporarily. "How is it out there?"

"Our forces are holding," Yggdra told him grimly. "The Royal Army—everyone is stronger than Marietta gave them credit for, it seems."

Nessiah drew in a shallow breath and nodded. "Good, that's good. Stay here and help Nietzsche—I'll settle this."

And before Yggdra could try to protest, he scooped up the Revelation and took the sharp slope of the incline Yggdra had used at a run.

The field where he and his partners had been training was mired in chaos. Someone seemed to have gotten off a distress call, because what looked like the entire Royal Army was working to fight off the angelic soldiers—Nessiah saw Durant and Milanor shouting orders, Mistel dueling three men at once, Elena and Cruz sniping angels' wings to keep them on the ground, and Pamela raining fire on a group of frustrated-looking soldiers. He heard Russell's voice though he didn't see the fencer, and thought he glimpsed Zilva and Kylier fighting back-to-back.

Marietta was about a hundred feet away from the tear in the earth, doing battle with Gulcasa and Roswell at the same time. She was, of course, unhurt; there was blood on Gulcasa's face and more splattered across Roswell's shoulder and arm, but neither of them seemed seriously wounded.

Still, this couldn't go on. Even though the angels were outnumbered something like five to one, they were much stronger, and gave far worse than they got. And Marietta…

Nessiah knew he was the only one who might be able to handle her.

He squared his shoulders, cast the pain from his mind, and laid his hand to his throat, amplifying the sound of his voice with magic. "Cease this childish brawling _now."_

The words rolled and echoed, and every pair of eyes turned to settle on him. Good.

"No more blood should be shed here than is necessary. Marietta—this is between the two of us; we have unfinished business dating back from Heaven's Gate. Therefore, let the two of us settle this conflict… unless you're afraid to face me alone in a magic duel."

Marietta was silent for a moment, then she sneered. "So be it, then."

Gulcasa and Roswell backed away, worried anger on both their faces. Marietta sauntered smugly across the battlefield as Nessiah distanced himself from the rip in the earth, and the scattered soldiers of both sides began to form a circle around them.

_I only have one chance at this—one real hope. If this doesn't work, all there is for me to do is fight and fail spectacularly. So it had better work._

Once Marietta was close enough, Nessiah laid his right hand over the Revelation's pages and raised his left, pointing at her. "Armory spoils 0311, 1132—HP Management System, A.S. Shield. Requesting manual override entry."

Both of the archangel's heavy gold bracelets lit up, and she stared at them in disbelief, then glared up at Nessiah incredulously.

He took a deep breath—only one chance, one slim thread of hope—and plunged ahead. "01110101110110110100001101 9784063637328-1929979004002-19, access 1451919918 118202311226. Requesting operation 'total shutdown'."

Both bracelets emitted a mechanical whirring sound, and their light went out. Marietta blanched, and Nessiah nearly fell to his knees in sheer relief. Even though his network access had been disabled, apparently no one had thought to reset the override codes for his mechanical _artifacts!_

"We're on equal footing now, you and I," Nessiah told her with a grim smile. "You seem a bit shaken. Are you actually just too cowardly to face me in a fair fight?"

_As long as I keep the bluff up—I think this might work—but I can't let her realize just how very little magic I have left… I have to take her out quickly, but…_

Marietta flushed, her cheeks stained red with rage. "How _dare _you even _insinuate…! _I will _crush _you, vermin traitor!"

And she raised her staff, beginning to draw power.

_What to do—what to do? She's an angel, she'll have at least as much natural resistance to lightning spells as I do, but those are the only spells that might come easily to me now…_

A stray idea crossed his mind, and he considered it, biting his lip. He was _fairly _certain it would work—she wouldn't be expecting it from him—but in his condition, it was going to cost him dearly.

But did he have any choice?

"Τό συμβόλαιου διακουήτω μοί,ή κρυστάλλιυη βασίλεια…" Nessiah's magical vision warped and swayed crazily, but he held up both hands towards Marietta as several pages of the Revelation detached and floated lazily around his body. "Έπιγευηθήτω, τα'ιώυιου 'έρεβος, αίώυιε κρύσταλλε."

There was a great crystalline chime through the air, and a gasp ran through the collective audience as pale blue light gathered around Marietta, forming huge chunks of ice that clung to and encased her wings. She broke off her casting with a yelp, going dead white in shock.

Nessiah rose up on his toes, lowering his hands so that they strained an inch above the Revelation's pages. "Πασαις ζωαις τόυ 'ίσου θάυατου, 'ός αταραξια…"

The ice began to crack, and Marietta let out an unmistakably fearful little cry.

Desperately, Nessiah raised his hands, crossing his wrists above his head. He fisted his right hand so tightly he could feel his nails bite into his palm, and curled the fingers of his left so that they resembled stiff claws. "ΚΟΣΜΙΚΗ' ΚΑΤΑΣΤΡΟΦΗ΄!"

Marietta screamed, her voice high and pitched, as the ice around her wings shattered. Most of the feathers broke off with it, leaving their undersides half-naked and resembling a plucked bird's but that they were laced with bloody cuts. The delicate bones that formed her wings' framework couldn't take the strain, and cracked in thousands of places, hanging useless at her shoulders as she crumpled to the ground.

That wasn't right—the spell should've done the same with her entire body—but Nessiah supposed that with the amount of power he'd had, this was the best he could expect. He felt emptied out and hollow and dizzy and horribly sick, but he knew he couldn't possibly leave it like this.

"Se…" He coughed, steadied himself, and pointed. "Septendecim spiritus aeriales, vinculum facti inimicum captent—Sagitta Magica, aer capturae!"

Thin, weak streams of wind shot from his hand, but Marietta didn't try to deflect them. They wound around her body and connected to the ground, binding her in place.

Nessiah didn't wait to see if she would try to break that binding—he cast about for the nearest weapon, a sword lying abandoned on the ground, and lunged for it, running to close the distance between himself and Marietta before any of her soldiers could think to act.

Bracing himself as consciousness danced further and further away, entirely drained, Nessiah held the edge of the sword to Marietta's throat, tipping up her chin with the point.

"Surrender," he managed. "Surrender now, and go back to the heavens. Leave us in peace, or I'm putting my signature right here."

Marietta didn't answer him. There was a menacing rumble from her soldiers, and an answering hiss from the Royal Army, and for a moment Nessiah feared that they would descend right back into chaotic battle around him.

"Hmm. I don't think that's a very good idea, now, wouldn't you say?"

He knew that voice. Everyone—even Marietta—turned in astonishment to see Rosary hovering in midair on the edge of the battlefield, sitting sidesaddle on her broomstick with her legs crossed and a smug look on her face.

Behind her were what looked like legions of sorcerers—witches, necromancers, and mages of nondescript discipline—with a flank each of huge stone golems and snickering skeletons. She'd arrived with reinforcements—what looked like the entirety of the White and Black Rose Armies—just in time to give Nessiah's threat punctuation.

Without his power behind it, Nessiah's binding on Marietta flickered and faded; still, she didn't attack.

"The day is yours," she said bitterly, "for now at least."

She spread her hands on the ground beneath her, a magic circle lacing from them, and vanished. So did all the angelic soldiers.

There was a long moment of silence—stunned silence, as though no one could quite believe how swiftly it had ended.

_"Nessiah!"_

It was Gulcasa's voice. With an effort, he turned to see the ashen-faced Emperor charging from the back of the circle towards him. "Nessiah, you _idiot! _Are you alright? Are you hurt? What were you _thinking?_ You stupid bloody bastard—"

"It's over now," he interrupted with a shaky smile, and then louder: "It's over…" And the smile froze on his face as the last of the adrenaline that had kept him moving ran out.

He hunched over and clapped a hand over his mouth as he felt cold sweep over him in a wave, and retched, vomiting a red-black cascade of blood. His sight spells all failed, plunging him into darkness and screaming pain as his battered legs crumpled and sent him pitching hard downwards. He felt the impact against the hard ground, heard the voices of his partners crying his name, and then knew nothing.

--

"—complete magical exhaustion—used his own _life force _for those spells—"

"And all this physical trauma. How can—"

"—a fever of 113°, that's _fatal _for some humans—"

"—both femurs nearly crushed, fragments displaced from all that movement, even _more _arteries shredded, there's a limit to what I can fix—"

"He gave us a miracle—"

"—lost so much blood, his heart's nearly stopped three times, ribs broken in resuscitation—"

"—could take months to really heal—"

"I've never _seen _this level of magical depletion. Isn't there _something—_?"

"—even granting magic in pactio spells will hurt him now; he has to fight out of it alone…"

"…if this is what victory cost—did we want to win like this? God, did we _want _this victory?"

A sudden hush, drawing out into silence. The question went unanswered.

**(tsuzuku)**


	20. fade in, fade out

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

As the hours passed, Gulcasa paced feverishly.

He was furious, but didn't have a clue as to who he should take out his anger on. Nessiah shouldn't have pushed himself so hard, shouldn't have taken so many stupid risks—but it wasn't his fault that Marietta had gotten the bright idea to crash their training session. It would've been nice to be able to vent on Marietta herself, but Gulcasa didn't know how the hell he was supposed to march his way up to the heavens to give her a piece of his mind.

He'd barely been able to keep hold of his temper when Flone had told him that she couldn't heal Nessiah's injuries all at once. But there was something morally wrong with wanting to bitch out a pregnant woman, so Gulcasa had restrained himself. Barely.

The problem was, at least according to her, that in addition to the extensive injuries to his body, Nessiah had completely exhausted his stores of magic—to the point where he'd been drawing on his own life to power his spells at the end of the battle. Nessiah's magic was as much a part of him as his heart or his brain, and so even if his body had been perfectly healthy, draining his magic would still have made him sick. And the way he was now—

"His injuries are so massive, and the healing spells I need to use are so powerful, that too much healing all at once is actually going to hurt him," Flone had explained. "So Roswell and I are taking it slowly. His legs are the worst—we've been working on reconstructing and knitting the broken bones, and repairing the damage to his muscles and veins. His ribs are next. We can't do it any other way—he's already in a comatose state due to the trauma. I can't risk the possibility of making it worse."

She'd said that a few days ago, after the initial struggle to keep Nessiah alive. Since then, she'd go into his room with Roswell for maybe an hour and a half every day, and slowly work her magic to help repair the fallen angel's broken body.

He'd lost so much blood. _Too _much, even before he'd—lost consciousness. Despite the amount of pain that Gulcasa knew Nessiah would be in, he still wished his friend would wake—he needed to eat and drink. Have some fruit juice, and that fried, sugar-caked bread he was so helpless to resist. Or else how could he get better? Every day he spent asleep was another day he went without food, and with only as much water as could be forced into him. And his fever was so impossibly high…

It was senseless to worry so much. Gulcasa had never known Flone to be unable to heal someone ill or injured, and she had Nessiah's recovery firmly in hand. But there was nothing he could do, and this was _Nessiah. _So Gulcasa worried, and paced, and tried hard not to vent his pent-up frustration on the castle walls.

---

"Is it really a good idea for us to be in here?" Yggdra hesitated at the door, twisting her hands in her skirts. "I'm not really sure that Nessiah would want me to…"

Flone shook her head. "There's not much for you to see, Majesty. Besides, Kylier tells me you're aware that Nessiah prefers men, and this is one of those times where health comes over modesty. You wanted to help, didn't you?"

"Yes, but…" Yggdra fidgeted a moment longer.

"Oh, stop waffling and give us a hand, will you?" Kylier's voice was aggravated enough that Yggdra made a face and finally ventured into the sickroom, closing the door behind her.

Nessiah lay at the center of the oversized bed, pillows laid out at his sides to prevent him from rolling in his sleep much the way Yggdra had seen new mothers do with their babies. There was a thick blanket covering him from his chest to his knees, and a wet cloth on his forehead. The blanket hid the worst of his bruises, but nothing would hide the bright red flush to his face, neck, and shoulders. His fever hadn't even gone down one degree.

And until he had more of his magic back, it wouldn't. Flone said that Nessiah wasn't taken with some disease, but that this was his body's natural response to his lack of magical defense. It didn't know quite how to cope, so it was defending itself the only way it could—by making him burn from within, as though he had some infection. If Nessiah woke, he would be delirious—and worse, as if he needed his body to cause him any more trouble, he wouldn't even be able to eat. Flone said that in his current state, his stomach would outright reject anything that wasn't liquid.

His insides were still very raw, anyway. Flone had confided to Kylier and Yggdra on their way down here that the very first thing she and Roswell had healed after making sure Nessiah would pull through had _not _been his legs at all. The immense amount of strain he'd been under up until now and all the magical pressure of the battle had made his stomach start to bleed. Yggdra had heard of such things happening to very stressed people, and according to Flone, it could do quite a lot of damage if not seen to quickly.

It all seemed so _surreal _to her. Even after all the fighting and horrible things she'd seen, Yggdra was quite convinced that never before had she been involved with someone injured as severely as Nessiah was now.

Maybe it was only because he was an angel that he'd survived—or maybe it was because there were so many people with healing potential determined that he get well, and focusing their healing solely on him. She didn't know, and didn't want to.

"Let's have a check-up on how the healing on his legs is holding," Flone decided. With no more preamble than that, she swept Nessiah's blanket off his body, sat on the side of the bed, and rested her hands lightly over his thighs.

Despite the fact that she was every bit as embarrassed for Nessiah's sake as she thought she'd be, Yggdra discovered that she hadn't needed to worry so much. Any desire she might have had to peek—well, she never _had _seen a man unclothed before—departed as she realized that she truly couldn't bear to look past Nessiah's waist for long. His legs weren't splotched awfully purple and blue anymore, but the bruises were still there—just a bit smaller, and sickly pale green and brown.

So while Kylier checked to make sure the bandages over Nessiah's chest were still perfectly in place, Yggdra removed the cloth from his forehead and concentrated hard. It was wet, but warm, and obviously did him no good—so she used what little magic she could muster to coat it in frost, then put it back in its place.

"He sure has been getting smacked around a lot lately," Kylier murmured, making a face as she pulled at Nessiah's bandages. "How long before you and Roswell plan to fix his ribs?"

"Hmm… tomorrow, maybe—the day after, at the latest." Flone frowned and slipped her hand under Nessiah's thigh, lifting it gently so that she would be able to fully inspect his bones with her fingertips. "His femurs are both knitting well; we'll do the last immediate touches on those today while we're helping reconstruct the blood path and healing the bruising to his muscles. If we wait any longer than that, we'll have to break those ribs over again just to heal them. They haven't been putting out bone spurs quite yet… his lack of magic is slowing the healing of his body, too. His system is too overwhelmed by the damage to do much at the moment."

"…How long do you think he's going to be like this?" Yggdra asked softly.

Flone shook her head distractedly. "Roswell and I will have the worst of his injuries on the mend before the week is out. But as for how long it's going to take for his magic to restore itself… I really can't say."

Yggdra bowed her head and sighed. She'd been afraid that that was the kind of answer Flone would give.

"I guess we're stuck then, aren't we?" When Yggdra and Flone turned to look at her, confused, Kylier shrugged. "I seem to remember Gulcasa having plans to get us out to Flarewerk by the end of the week, but… with Ness like this, there's no way in hell that's gonna happen. He'd kill us if we ditched him, and _Gulcasa _would kill us for even considering it. I mean, shit—what are we gonna do with Gulcasa while we wait? We've only got so long before he goes psycho and takes out a castle wall or something."

"Well…" Flone straightened up and gently covered Nessiah with the blanket again. "He'll be able to come in here soon enough, which should help for now. You know that this is where he really wants to be."

---

The days passed. Slowly but surely, they passed. The unsettled worry hanging over Castle Paltina did not diminish.

Rosary, for one, was fed up with it. The way they'd gotten together and beaten those angels' sorry butts into the stratosphere, she'd have thought people would be _celebrating. _But they weren't, and why was that? Because _Nessiah _of all people was still laid up in bed.

It was enough to make her sick, _especially _when she was trying to track somebody down to get something _proactive _done. As soon as the idiot fallen angel was back on his feet, they were _supposed _to be heading out to Bronquia, and she had bags to pack. You couldn't exactly make a bunch of golems cart fragile luggage around; they'd break it. But where had all the _human_ pairs of helping hands gone? To someone who didn't deserve them in the least.

In a fine state of temper, Rosary clomped through the castle halls, in search of her favorite target. If she couldn't make him hop to, she could always pick a fight with him. That at least might be satisfying.

"Careful, or you're gonna stomp right through the floor."

Rosary turned to see Kylier lounging in an oriel, bracing her heels on the wall as she looked lazily into the hallway.

She scowled and put her fisted hands on her hips. "As though that's any of your concern. Where's Roswell? I need to ask him something, and I can't find him anywhere."

Kylier sat up and rolled her shoulders. "Last I heard, he's still with Ness. He and Flone finished up in there a while ago, but he wasn't with her when she left."

Rosary bristled, irked. "Why the hell is he so obsessed with that obnoxious little bastard, anyway? You'd think he'd still be holding a grudge against the worthless thing."

To her surprise, Kylier started laughing. "Ho boy. Wow, Rosary… in your own way, you really _are _as dense as Ness and Milanor, aren't you?" Before Rosary could make a retort, she stood and stretched and ambled over to the witch. "Well, lemme clue you in. You remember how Roswell was right after the war ended, right? The way he shut himself up and wouldn't have anything to do with anybody?"

Rosary nodded stiffly. "Yes. I didn't pay him much mind—it's _Roswell, _after all, and he came out of it well enough, didn't he?"

Kylier shook her head. "Figures. Yeah, Roswell came out of it, but he didn't do it on his own. We went off to check on him after we visited you, remember? And that's when it started coming out. Roswell was really losing it, Rosary—wasn't eating or taking care of himself, and from what I hear, he was actually into some pretty bad shit. Drugs," she elaborated at Rosary's confused expression. "Uppers and narcotics, we _think._ Nobody's actually gone up to him and asked."

Rosary frowned. It was irritating, but she couldn't help the little clutch of worry deep down in her chest. "…I can't… really imagine that." Roswell was—particular enough about maintaining himself, and could get downright fussy about his image. His pride in himself got on Rosary's nerves, but it was just _part _of him. She couldn't believe he might actually slip so far.

"It was damn creepy, and a little scary," Kylier said emphatically. "C'mon, walk with me. We'll go see if Ros really _is _still up with Ness. Anyhow, it got to the point where Yggdra wanted to confront him about it, but Ness spoke up then and said he'd take care of it discreetly. And he did. This part I have from him, and there're some details he doesn't want shared, so you'll have to deal with that."

Rosary nodded, disconcerted, as the two of them turned the hall corner.

"Ness found him late at night and they had a little talk about what Roswell was trying to do and why it wasn't good for him. You know he'd been trying to figure out how to bring his parents back, _really _bring them back, since they died—he can't, and it was getting to him, and Ness made him come to terms with that. And… well, to get Ros to leave it alone… Ness let him inside his head. It was a big risk for him, and Roswell knows that. He found out… everything. Everything that I know about Ness, Roswell knows, too. They've been close ever since then. 'Cause, see, Roswell doesn't just owe Ness his life from Heaven's Gate, he owes Ness his sanity. And his health. Get it?"

"…………" Rosary looked at the rug and didn't answer. Was that _true? _Kylier didn't sound like she was trying to string her along, but—she had trouble just believing that Roswell could've let himself go that far. Or that he'd do something so abysmally stupid as trying to bring his parents back to life.

But then—the bitterness, the envy rose up in her like bile—Roswell had been the one with loving parents. So losing them had hit him pretty hard. She couldn't help the little flutter of shameful relief at that. The first seventeen years of her life had been miserable because of her parents, but she wouldn't trade the heady sense of freedom she had once they'd died for _anything._

"I know, your 'rents were class-A shits," Kylier said softly. Rosary started a little—was she that transparent?—but didn't interrupt as the Vanir went on. "But for Roswell… it really, really messed him up when his died, okay? Until you guys joined the Royal Army, he didn't have anything good to hang on to, and… Ness gave him a lifeline. Roswell's always gonna be grateful for that; they're always gonna be close. I figure… even if you don't really like that, you'd better understand it. 'Cause it'll just make more trouble if you go on not knowing."

Rosary was silent as they climbed a short flight of stairs and turned another corner. Kylier pushed a door open, peeked inside, and laughed softly.

Frowning, Rosary leaned around her to look. It seemed to be Nessiah's room—she saw the chained-up angel lying splayed across the bed, all naked and bruised and pitiful. Roswell was half in a chair at the side of the bed, half sprawled on the bed himself. From the looks of things, both of them were asleep.

"Heh, I guess we should leave 'em alone. Roswell's more discreet about it, but he's been worrying about as much as Gulcasa. It'd just be mean to wake him up now."

Rosary stared at Roswell, her brow furrowing. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something that just—wasn't quite right about all this. She had no idea what it was, but she just _knew _that there was more to the story of Roswell's weird tolerance for Nessiah than Kylier was telling.

"C'mon—you know we're leaving as soon as Ness is up and stable, right? We better get ready." Kylier tugged Rosary's arm, pulling her unwilling from the doorframe. "I'll help you get your stuff packed."

---

Roswell leaned back and sighed a little before answering, aware of the three pairs of worried eyes on him. "…He's actually starting to visibly improve—and well enough, since it's been over a week. The bones in his legs are almost completely healed, and the bruising and swelling's gone down a lot; his ribs are knitting well, and by now any aftereffects from his concussion should be gone, too. His fever has gone down to a hundred and ten, so Flone thinks he may be starting to get the dregs of his magic back."

"So—so does this mean Nessiah will wake up soon?" Yggdra asked, her eyes wide and her face flushed.

"We still can't say. Listen…" Roswell shook his head before she could say anything. "I know how this is on you, because it's worse for me. I wish I could give him some of my magic, but in his condition, even pactio spells will hurt him. You have to remember that every time we go in to heal him, we're actually setting his magical recovery _back. _As soon as he has enough magic to wake… we're not going to be able to heal him from there on out until it's fully recovered, or we might send him back into _this _state."

"How familiar are you with magical exhaustion?" Elena wanted to know, then blushed. "I'm—sorry, I don't mean to sound as though I'm questioning your competence, it's just…"

"I don't mind." Roswell folded his arms and looked away. "As it happens, I've experienced it myself—during the plague two years ago."

Yggdra and Elena both paled. Nietzsche tilted her head, confused, but before she could ask, Yggdra set a hand on her shoulder and shook her head adamantly.

"I didn't have much skill then, but I _did _have enough power to heal," Roswell went on, both touched and saddened. "So I was on call at the time… I didn't become ill myself until my magic ran completely dry, and that… is part of why it took me three full months to recover. Ordinarily… well, I should've healed faster than that, but my body was too drained. With Nessiah, it's similar… except that Flone and I are speeding his recovery time as much as we can. If he were left to heal naturally… it could take him anywhere from six months to a year."

"Which would, of course, be intolerable," Yggdra said unhappily.

"And for a great many reasons, too," Roswell agreed. "So we're doing what we can—even if that doesn't seem like very much."

"Huh. So that's your excuse? I would think you'd have tried to find one that sounds less pathetic."

The blunt anger in the words was a slap, and Roswell jolted a little as the girls all turned. Gulcasa was standing in the doorframe, his hands in fists at his sides and his expression sullen and closed.

"Don't look so damn shocked," the Emperor growled. "I've been wondering why the hell you haven't been in there doing everything you can now his fever's dropping—you're worried about what you might be doing to him _now? _Why didn't you just take care of all this in the first place, so all he'd have to worry about is getting his magic back? One more shock on top of everything else wouldn't have hurt him then—but you've been drawing the pain out for so much longer… If you're really intending to be a healer, you should've taken that into account."

Roswell winced. He could've argued that Nessiah's condition had been too fragile and that it was pointless to throw accusations now anyway, but he knew there was no use. Gulcasa needed a target for his anger—and on some level, he was right. He and Flone could never know whether that mightn't have been a better option, after all.

"That's not fair," Nietzsche piped up, crossing her arms as Yggdra and Elena exchanged uneasy glances. "Roswell's been working really hard, and you know it! He's been doing his best just like everybody—it's not fair to blame the way Ness is on him!"

"Not fair…?"

Roswell winced again as he saw that the muscles of Gulcasa's arms were starting to shake and twitch, a sure sign that his temper was running very thin.

"Not fair, you said? I'll tell you what isn't fair. What isn't fair is that even after everything Nessiah did for us, the way he almost killed himself making sure those angels knew they'd lost and discouraging them from coming back, no one seems to be able to lift a finger for him. What _isn't fair _is that he's been days healing from things that Roswell and Flone together could've healed in a trice, and that when he _does _wake, he's going to be in pain for a long time. _That _is what isn't fair. And if any of you gave half the damn you profess to about Nessiah, you would know that."

Roswell was silent as Gulcasa whirled and stalked off, even moodier than he'd been when he arrived. He didn't say anything as the girls exchanged glances again, or when Yggdra turned to him with a distressed expression.

"You know he didn't really mean…" she began, wringing her hands. "He's just—angry, and so he's saying things that…"

"I know," Roswell cut her off with a sigh. He didn't say—didn't _have _to say—that Gulcasa's furious accusations had hit right where he'd intended them to, and wouldn't be erased so easily.

---

By the time he reached Nessiah's room, Gulcasa's head was clear enough that he didn't slam the door behind him. But even though he'd finally been able to snap at one of the chief reasons Nessiah wasn't up and about right now, he still wasn't feeling any better.

God, how could he? How _could _he feel any better when Nessiah was still…

Gulcasa sat in a chair that had been pushed up against the wall and unlaced his boots, leaving them on the floor as he repositioned himself on the side of the bed. Nessiah had barely moved since he'd last been in here—he was still naked, still lying sprawled on his back, flushed and shivering with fever. Though when Gulcasa rested his hand across Nessiah's forehead, he didn't feel quite as hot as he had earlier, there was no way for him to really tell. He was no healer, after all.

He _did _know, though, that he couldn't have been gone for ten minutes and there was a fresh sheen of sweat over Nessiah's skin. This would never do. Didn't he know so well that if enough sweat gathered near the scars across Nessiah's eyes, they would swell up and start to bleed? That was the _last _thing Nessiah needed in his current state.

Without hesitating, Gulcasa carefully unsnapped the front of Nessiah's faceplate, laying out the thin, curved sheets of metal across the bedclothes. Brushing Nessiah's disheveled bangs out of his face, Gulcasa softly ran his knuckles over the skin between Nessiah's scars.

It was strange, the things you got used to. He'd been doing this a lot lately, so that the motions no longer took much thought. If Nessiah were awake, he would have spent a good five or ten minutes freaking out and trying to keep Gulcasa from coming anywhere near his face—and preferably wiping any sweat away himself, in private.

Well—that was unfair. Nessiah wasn't _that _unreasonable about his old scars, and if he was so indisposed that he couldn't take care of them himself, Gulcasa could usually get through his guard pretty quickly. All Nessiah offered against it by now was a weak and halfhearted protest or two.

_Is that because he's growing to trust me more, or just because he finds resistance to be tiring? _Gulcasa hoped it was the former, and for so many reasons.

Deciding he had Nessiah's face as dry as it would get for now, Gulcasa rested his fingertips along the curve of the fallen angel's cheek. It was so strange to see so much color in his skin—Nessiah had always been so _pale, _and even when he blushed, he rarely got any redder than a rosy pink. And after having Nessiah use his pactio magic to assume his—original state, Gulcasa supposed he should consider it—it was strange to see these scars at all, and really remember that the truth of the matter was that Nessiah was still blind, still damaged beneath it all.

He had blue eyes. Blue as Yggdra's; blue as the twins'. All the other people Gulcasa knew who had blue eyes either boasted a paler shade, or a grayer one. And framed in those soft white-blond lashes, they seemed… a little ethereal, too delicate and beautiful for reality. Gulcasa had never known that before. And he'd never known just what difference it would make to see Nessiah really and truly _smiling, _not just smirking or scowling or expressionless. Like Nessiah's heart, and maybe his mind, it was an image of him that was fragile and uncertain and at once disturbingly fleeting and charmingly honest.

Was that the real Nessiah—the way Nessiah had been once, in heaven, in Asgard as he called it? Even back then, had he looked like something too good and too pure to survive for long, or was that something he'd only picked up now?

The angel was a maze with no damn beginning and no end and not a shred of logic in the construction of its corridors. Gulcasa might think he was getting closer to the center, to the truth of who and what Nessiah really was, but whenever he became certain, it turned out that he was just seeing another layer, another shell.

What the hell _was _truth, when it came to Nessiah? Half of what the world perceived as reality was actually Nessiah's illusion. It seemed so obvious to Kylier and Roswell, but they'd looked at the puzzle from the inside out—and the rate things were going, Nessiah looked to be the _last _person who'd clarify things.

Gulcasa looked at the tangle of thin and thick marks crossing the upper half of Nessiah's face, breaking the thin gold lines of his eyebrows and the thinner white lines of his eyelashes. He brushed a few stray strands of the angel's hair out of his face, tucking them behind the curve of Nessiah's ear though he knew they wouldn't stay there for long. From there, he let his fingertips trail back down that too-red cheek to rest against the delicate and impossibly soft lips he'd once kissed.

Maybe there was a kind of truth in this, if only just a little bit. There was truth in the way Nessiah's chest fluttered like a dying bird under Gulcasa's touch as his body strained for air, in the smooth skin under his bandages, in the soft contours of his flat belly. There was truth in his fading bruises, in his almost-too-long nails, unbitten and perfect. Even where there were secrets, there was also truth.

He was so _small. _Gulcasa ran his fingertips up and down Nessiah's side idly as he wondered at it. He'd never seen someone out of adolescence who was this small. He knew that Kylier mercilessly teased Nessiah about it whenever he'd been treading on her nerves, but he never had and never would do the same. It was a sore point for Nessiah, and all the more sensitive because he was sure Nessiah was all too aware of what he himself had guessed.

Well, was Nessiah _supposed _to be happy that the last of his natural growth had been brought to a screeching halt? Some people weren't fully developed until their mid-twenties—Gulcasa himself was a prime example of that; it would've taken him a few years yet, but becoming Brongaa's receptacle had sped the process up. He had to have shot up five inches in fewer weeks, and it had _hurt. _Nessiah—well, Gulcasa couldn't see him doing the same, but it couldn't be clearer that he still had at least a little growing to do. Hell, he was barely all of five feet and two inches, his chest and belly as smooth as a child's, and all it took was a glance at him unclothed to see he was still a bit underdeveloped. How could it be anything else?

Nessiah shifted under Gulcasa's touch with a muted whimper, and he drew his hand back with raised eyebrows and the hint of a smile. It looked as though even asleep, there was a limit to what Nessiah was going to tolerate from him.

_And what am I doing, anyway? I suppose I should pay more attention to what my hands are doing while I'm thinking, or I'm going to have some explaining to do. I certainly don't want to give Nessiah any _more _reasons to worry about his personal space being violated._

Gulcasa shook his head as he looked down at Nessiah, who had resettled on his side. Aside from the way he was flushed with fever and breathing too quickly, he seemed peacefully asleep again.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," he said aloud, "but sometimes I can't help but feel as though I barely know you at all."

Nessiah didn't reply. Gulcasa didn't expect him to.

_But I want to know you, _he thought as he stretched out on his side, keeping watch over the frail little angel. _I want to know you better than I do._

And then there was another thought, one that made him smile.

_At the very least, it looks like I'll have my revenge for all those times you wound up in _my _bed._

---

Gulcasa wasn't sure what woke him up—whether he'd had enough sleep for one day and it was just coincidence, or if he really had been that attuned to Nessiah even without his conscious mind being in on it. He only knew that when he _did _wake, Nessiah was shifting weakly but restlessly, his white-blond lashes fluttering as though he were trying to open his eyes. Seeing that just hurt Gulcasa's heart.

"Nessa?" he ventured softly, not daring to hope. "Nessiah, are you awake?"

Nessiah turned towards him with a soft moan. "…Gulcasa…?"

Relief hit like a solid wave, making Gulcasa shake all over. "Oh, thank _God."_

"What's… going on…?" Even as thin and hoarse as it was, Nessiah's voice still wavered and cracked audibly. "I can't… see…"

"You ran out of magic," Gulcasa said quickly. How minor, how mundane that sounded when it was spoken aloud—too bland to have caused this much misery. "When you were fighting, you used up much more than you had to spare. And you were—hurt very badly, too. You've been unconscious for a little over a week, and you're still sick." As an afterthought, Gulcasa touched Nessiah's forehead and sighed in relief; he barely felt warm now, meaning he was approaching Gulcasa's own heightened temperature. And his color was going down, so that he wasn't brick red anymore but blush pink, as if he was close to getting sunburned. "You're getting better, though. Don't try to see just yet—I know, I know, I'm sorry—I don't know if you can without knocking yourself out again."

It tore at him, but in the long run it would hurt Nessiah more to be completely blind and to have Gulcasa at his side for hours than for him to be blind and alone for a few seconds. So Gulcasa got up and dashed to the door, standing half in and half out of Nessiah's room.

"Hey, somebody go get Flone!" he yelled. Someone would hear, and she'd arrive soon enough; that done, Gulcasa flew back to Nessiah, hovering anxiously.

"I've been… out for a week…?" the angel asked as soon as Gulcasa had sat back down.

"You have," Gulcasa told him. "We nearly lost you a few times in the beginning. You've been—very, very ill. Both your legs were broken—they're healed now—and your ribs are… still healing." He didn't even know if they'd finished knitting yet, damn it all. "You had a high fever for a while—it's lower now, but you still have one. You're… going to have a rough few days, I suppose… Flone said you can't be healed any further until your magic's all the way back."

Nessiah sighed a little and shifted. "…I suppose… I'll just have to handle it, then." He slowly lifted one hand to his forehead, and frowned, his face flushing a deeper red. "…Gulcasa, why is my faceplate off?"

Gulcasa started. "Ah—shit, sorry, I'll fix it. You were… last night your fever was still high enough that you were… I was trying to keep your face dry so your scars wouldn't bleed, and I just left the thing off. Sorry." He gathered up the thin plates of blue-violet metal and brushed Nessiah's hair back, fastening them back in place quickly. "It would help if you wouldn't squirm."

Nessiah swatted Gulcasa's hands away, making a face. "I can't help it—these are _cold."_ He shivered and edged a little closer to Gulcasa, resting a hand over his wrist. Gulcasa didn't ask, and didn't pull away—it was better for Nessiah to have physical contact; it helped him stay calm. "Just how long have you been here?"

"All night, I suppose," Gulcasa replied. "I was in here making sure nothing was wrong, and I got tired and fell asleep. Over the past week, we've made sure there was always someone nearby, if not actually in your room. You've been in very bad shape, Nessa."

"…" Nessiah made an effort to sit up, then gasped sharply and clapped a hand to his bandaged ribs. "Ah—"

"You shouldn't move too much—I told you those are still healing," Gulcasa scolded, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

"I don't think—I broke these fighting or falling," Nessiah managed, his voice strained.

"Your heart stopped or almost stopped a few times in the beginning," Gulcasa retorted tartly. "Would you rather have broken ribs because we bothered to restart the damn thing, or be dead right now?"

Nessiah was silent for a moment, just breathing; his hand tightened on Gulcasa's wrist. "…Just so you know… you give an overly enthusiastic cardiac massage, my Emperor. My bones aren't as thick as yours, or as any human's. The byword here is 'gently'. Perhaps you'd best stick to the battlefield, and leave the first aid to the healers."

Gulcasa stiffened, unable to stifle the strangled sound of surprise that caught in his throat. "How—how the hell did you know that I was the one…"

"…to break my ribs trying to save me? Dolt." Nessiah was still pale with pain, but he was smiling. "There are only four people here who would jump into action to restart my heart rather than stand and dither over it, and of those four, Roswell and Kylier are aware of the discrepancies in angelic bone density and Flone is professional enough to intuit it. I don't remember Flone being there, and I suppose you were just closer than Roswell and Kylier at the time." His smile grew. "Besides, the way your voice got indignant and embarrassed gave you away. …If it soothes your pride at all, I _do _prefer a few broken bones to having to reincarnate. The former is a painful inconvenience, but the latter is excruciating."

Silently, Gulcasa reached for Nessiah's free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "…I didn't mean to hurt you," he said softly.

"I know, and I won't hold it against you." Nessiah fumbled for a moment, then interlaced his fingers with Gulcasa's. "Thank you for saving me."

Gulcasa was spared having to think of a reply to that because Flone chose to arrive then, her long hair and skirts flying. "Nessiah—so you're finally awake! Thank goodness."

"Before you start his check-up—do you think he's got enough magic left to see?" Gulcasa asked, still holding Nessiah's hand tightly.

Flone hesitated for a moment, a surprised expression crossing her face, and smiled. "…Yes, I think it's safe to try. You mustn't use any other magic, though—you understand, Nessiah?"

Gulcasa felt the little tremor run through Nessiah's body, and somehow felt the air around him change the moment before he turned towards her with a wavering smile. "Yes, I know."

Releasing Nessiah's hand, Gulcasa reached out and caught the tear before it slipped all the way down the angel's cheek. "Don't cry," he cajoled with a lopsided smile. "You'll get your eyes all messed-up, and after all the trouble I went to making sure they wouldn't!"

That got a laugh out of both Nessiah and Flone, and Gulcasa eased back and into one of the chairs strewn about the room while Flone asked a number of detailed questions to determine how Nessiah was recovering. Gulcasa just listened, not speaking up unless she had something specific to ask him. For the first time since the battle, he actually felt relaxed; _finally, _he could stop spending every minute of the day cross with worry. Now that Nessiah was awake, he knew his friend would be just fine.

---

Although Nessiah's legs barely ached at all, Flone had given orders that he stay off them except for short walks to the privy and back, so he found himself stuck in bed for the duration of his recovery. It wasn't that much of a hardship, not when too much movement sent ripping pain spearing through his ribs. And besides, every day brought a slew of visitors.

Zilva and Gulcasa's bodyguards, along with everyone in the Royal Army, checked in on him at least once—even Milanor, even Rosary. Yggdra, Elena, and Nietzsche brought him treats from the kitchens and the bakery (it shocked him just how _hungry _he felt, even after sleeping for a week), careful embraces, and news from the court and the palace. Kylier and Gulcasa stayed for hours every day—sometimes together, sometimes separately—clearly just happy to see him alert.

Russell and Flone stopped by three times every day, as well. First Russell would help brace Nessiah while Flone talked him through simple exercises he could do while bedridden to prevent his muscles from wasting, and then Flone would insist that he drink a potion she'd concocted. It was supposed to help his magic to regenerate and the mental and spiritual channels of his magic to heal; from what Nessiah could tell, it was thickly concentrated tomato juice seasoned with almost too much salt, basil, oregano, and vervain. It didn't have a repelling taste, but the flavor was still so potent that Nessiah had trouble choking it all down. Flone was sympathetic, but unyielding.

"The sooner your magic recovers, the sooner your ribs get fixed," she always said firmly. "And the sooner that happens, the sooner we get on the road to Flarewerk. His Majesty is itching to get started, and you're sick of your bed, so I won't tolerate any nonsense from you, General Nessiah."

He wondered a little why he'd never realized just how intimidating she could get. Unable to bear her commanding gaze, he meekly drank the potion as quickly as he could.

Other than that, the young couple's visits were as enjoyable as everyone else's. Although they didn't interact very much, Russell had been one of the first members of the Royal Army to be comfortable with Nessiah; they had after all once fought for the same cause, and some of that camaraderie still lingered. And it was impossible to be unappreciative of Flone's single-minded care—though Nessiah found it difficult not to stare at her belly, which was unmistakably beginning to ripen.

Despite all the attention lavished on him, Nessiah quite clearly noted what he knew they wanted him to overlook: Roswell's absence.

On the third day of his convalescence, Nessiah stopped Kylier from leaving his room, determined to have the situation explained. To her credit, she didn't pretend not to understand when he asked bluntly where Roswell was; she just shook her head and sighed.

"The night before you woke up, Gulcasa was running around in seek-and-destroy mode, and he wound up snapping at Roswell. And even though Roswell understands perfectly that Gulcasa was just being an ass 'cause he was worried, he's been moping over it." She shrugged. "I've been trying to make him trot his sorry behind in here, but I haven't had any luck yet."

Nessiah made a face. "Well, get him in here—now. I don't care if you have to drag him, just please get him in here. I can't just let him be… since this is Roswell we're talking about, we don't have that option."

Kylier nodded. "Honestly? I've been waiting for you to give me the excuse to do that."

She left and was back only a few minutes later, propelling Roswell ahead of her. He was giving faint and ineffective protests; Kylier was rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, and I told you nobody cares. Ness has been _asking _for you, dumbass; don't avoid the issue. Talk to him."

She gave him a good shove that had him stumbling into the room, nodded to Nessiah, and left, actually dusting her hands off as she went. (It made Nessiah want to smile; he really did love her so much.)

Before Roswell could try to back away—the look on his face said he wanted to—Nessiah straightened up against the pillows and patted the mattress beside him. "Come here, Roswell. I can't get up, and I want to see your face."

A little hesitantly, the necromancer did. He looked anxious and wan and a little haunted, and wouldn't look at Nessiah directly. Nessiah took all this in calmly, then reached out and brushed his fingertips across Roswell's cheek, drawing him closer for a soft kiss.

Roswell broke it quickly, leaning back a little. "The door is open…," he said in a half-whisper, his lovely blue eyes flicking from Nessiah towards the hall and back.

"I don't care," Nessiah half-whispered back, and dragged Roswell's face back down to his. Their lips met with more force, and Roswell's eyes half-closed and his hands came up to lightly frame Nessiah's face as Nessiah traced the curve of Roswell's lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Roswell shuddered as his lips parted, moaned a little and let Nessiah in. Nessiah slid his hands into Roswell's silky hair as their bodies pressed together gently, made a soft sound of contentment that was more sigh than moan when Roswell's tongue eased into his mouth to tease his own. Roswell's hands, then his arms circled Nessiah's thin waist; Nessiah's hands framed Roswell's face now as his lover angled him back to deepen their kiss still further.

Nessiah rested liquidly into the circle of Roswell's arms when they parted sweetly, nestling closer with another, softer contented sound. Roswell just held him, rocking him gently, tenderly.

"I needed that," Nessiah murmured, his voice drenched in peace and bliss. "I needed it almost as badly as I've missed you. It feels like part of me is gone when I can't see you, and I can't help but feel a little lost when you avoid me."

Roswell shifted a little; his guilt was palpable. Nessiah reached up and touched his face soothingly, stilling him.

"It doesn't even matter that I'm still too hurt to make love with you. It's enough for now that you're holding me." Nessiah rested his hand on Roswell's chest, over his heart. "I never even realized how much I've come to need to be held… I don't really know why it's so comforting, being close to your warmth, or Kylier's or Gulcasa's. I just know that everything hurts a little less when I have you here."

Roswell still didn't speak, but he shifted his hold on Nessiah to run his fingers through the fallen angel's short hair.

"Kylier told me that Gulcasa snapped at you," Nessiah went on, making the words a gentle reproach. "I know that even though he must have been picking random targets out of frustration, what he said still hurt you. Maybe I can't change that, but I don't want you to punish us both by staying away from me."

"That's not… what I was doing," Roswell said softly, his voice vulnerable and a little uncertain. "It's just… I was ashamed."

"What do you have to be ashamed of, Roswell?" Nessiah gentled his voice further, making it no more than a simple question. He had to be careful now, so careful. Roswell's heart was so fragile, so easily hurt; if Nessiah didn't tread as softly and cautiously as he could, he'd end up crushing it.

"Gulcasa said then… that by healing you in stages, Flone and I might be doing more harm than good—that it may just have been better to heal your body all at once and then let your magic pool back afterwards. We made our decision quickly, and out of fear of hurting you further… but maybe I _have _just hurt you more this way. I just don't know. There's no way for me to know. And I just…"

_Humans, _Nessiah thought in amazement. What _was _it about the mortal mind that condemned itself for not helping someone else in the best way possible? What in the name of the _gods _made these temporal creatures despondent and ashamed of things they should take pride in?

He shook his head a little, smiled a little. "Oh, Roswell. Gulcasa _broke my ribs _trying to resuscitate me, and I'm still grateful to him for it. Being cared for and helped by other living creatures is a novelty to me; I'm not picky about how they do it. Yes, I might have recovered faster being healed all at once, but it's also possible that the amount of magical damage that would have wrought on my soul would have rendered me comatose for months. You did what you thought was best, and you suffered for it more than I did. I was asleep—if it caused me any pain, I don't remember it." Sitting up, Nessiah rested his hand on Roswell's cheek, forcing his lover to meet his gaze. "There's nothing you've done that I need to forgive, and I hope that will help you to forgive yourself."

"Nessiah…" Roswell's eyes grew damp, and he closed them, leaning into the fallen angel's touch with a weak smile.

And that was when Gulcasa appeared in the doorframe. "Nessiah, have you—"

Roswell turned towards him, wide-eyed, and Nessiah let go of his lover to join him in staring at Gulcasa, who had frozen as he took in the scene.

"…oh. I'll… come back later," he managed disjointedly, and turned as if to leave.

"Gulcasa," Nessiah said flatly, forcing patience.

He winced and stopped dead, his hand still on the doorframe.

"You come back in here and sit down. This discussion should include you."

Rather resembling a child caught in disobedience and expecting a reprimand, Gulcasa reluctantly entered Nessiah's room, heading for a chair. Nessiah pointed firmly to an open space on the mattress next to Roswell; Gulcasa shoved his hands into his pockets and sat where he was directed. However, this made Roswell shift awkwardly and begin to rise, seeking an escape.

"Oh, no you're not," Nessiah said, irritated. "Stop acting like toddlers, the both of you." And so saying, he grabbed Roswell's left shoulder, intending to force him back down.

But Roswell gasped and flinched and went white, clutching at his shoulder where Nessiah had touched it.

The world seemed to freeze and go silent for a moment, in which a great heaviness settled over Nessiah's chest, making it hard to breathe. _Oh, gods, not again, not now. He's been doing so much better lately…_

The scolding he'd wanted to heap on Gulcasa and Roswell forgotten, Nessiah guided his lover back down to the mattress more gently—and fought the fastenings of his courtier's tunic open. Before Roswell could move to stop him, before Gulcasa could demand what in the hell he was doing, Nessiah wrenched it down, baring Roswell's shoulder.

Roswell's protest died before it was fully formed; as Gulcasa drew in a sharp breath, the only sound he could make was a tiny wounded-animal whimper deep in his throat. Nessiah just shook his head slightly. What was left of his eyes prickled and burned as his chest twisted; he wanted to cry, but couldn't let himself.

"Oh, Roswell…"

Nessiah didn't touch the gash across the top of Roswell's arm; instead, he laid his fingers about an inch to the side of it as he examined it. The cut was scabbed heavily over, but the scabs were still deep red and the skin just around them flushed, indicating that the injury wasn't very old—a few days at the most. It was too wide to have been made with a razor or a thin blade like a knife; Nessiah guessed that it had been made with a heavy dagger or maybe even a sword. It was going to leave a definite scar.

Gulcasa was shaking his head, his brow creased, apparently unable to say a word. Too quickly for Roswell to pull away, he reached out and grabbed the necromancer's wrist, pushing his sleeve back to expose the latticing of old thin scars beneath it.

Roswell yanked his arm free. He was bone-white and shaking, his eyes huge. "I-I don't…" he managed in a tiny voice, clutching at his clothes as if attempting to hold them closed. "I'm not… I'm… I just…"

Nessiah was shaking, too. It took him a moment to recognize the heat building in his chest and throat as anger.

"You remember that," he said to Gulcasa, and his voice was quiet but very hard. "You remember what you saw, and remember this: _Think _first. Don't you ever take out your anger at your own helplessness on Roswell again. He's not like the rest of us. He's breakable. He's not going to tell you that you're being a hypocritical shit even if he should; after everything he's been through, he can't _cope _with emotional pain the way you and I can. He doesn't know how to express anger or sadness or guilt—he internalizes it, and this is what ends up happening. He's learning, but that's a hard thing to do, to unlearn one form of emotion and replace it with another. So this is what happens. All the little cuts that hurtful words leave on his heart will appear on his skin. I know you, Gulcasa. I know you weren't thinking, and that you never would have intended something like _this _to result from words you threw around in the heat of the moment. Remember this now, so that it won't happen again. Roswell is breakable. If you need a damn target, find one somewhere else."

Gulcasa didn't reply, and so Nessiah turned towards Roswell, taking the necromancer's face in both hands and holding him steady. "Roswell, look at me. I know you know this, and I _know _it's hard on you, but you have to _stop _this. You know you've been escalating, and you know that this isn't going to fix the real problem—if the people who hurt you have no idea what they're doing to you, they're not going to stop. You could seriously hurt yourself next time, the way you've been hiding this from healers. So, please. Don't just keep it all inside. The next time you're in this kind of situation, try to remember this. It's _okay _to throw someone's insults in his own face, and point out that he's being an idiot. I know you're too sweet to have pointed out to Gulcasa that he'd better not snap at you for _possibly_ hurting me when he _actually _broke my ribs saving me, but sometimes it's better to say the cruel truth aloud than to kill yourself by inches for politeness' sake."

Nessiah was silent for a moment, taking a deep breath and gathering himself.

"In short, you're being an idiot, and so" he turned to Gulcasa "are you. Please, learn from it. Gulcasa, you don't want to hurt someone like this again, and Roswell, you don't want to stay in pain forever. And _I _don't want either of you to do this over something that involves _me, _because it hurts me when you do."

"I didn't…" Gulcasa began, and cut himself off. Roswell just closed his eyes, his expression a study of misery.

"I know," Nessiah said, and "I know" again as he reached out and held them both.

---

In one more day, Flone declared Nessiah's magic to be as recovered as it was going to get, and she and Roswell spent the better part of an hour making sure his ribs healed perfectly. And the day after that was consumed in a great flurry of activity and packing (in which Rosary cast a smug eye over everyone else, as she had seen to it that she was prepared long ago); the journey into Bronquia had been postponed for Nessiah's sake, but could be no longer.

After all, with Marietta and the angels discouraged, Shorehold was now the most prominent threat to the alliance, and Gulcasa had been waiting to deliver them some short shrift. And more importantly, the great summer festival was on its way, and Gulcasa seemed particularly determined that they arrive in time for it.

What Nessiah didn't get was why everyone in the Royal Army seemed to be coming along.

When he wondered that aloud, his reply came in the form of a number of tolerantly shaking heads and blithe smiles.

"Well, after all this crap we've had to go through, wouldn't you say we deserve a vacation?" Cruz asked, grinning.

Nessiah couldn't fault that logic one bit.

**(tsuzuku)**


	21. Where the Heart Is

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

After all the chaos and worry they'd been put through in Fantasinia, the journey back to Bronquia was refreshingly uneventful. They spent two nights in Karona and an afternoon in Ishnad, and from there meandered their way through the Bronquian countryside, visiting villages here or there, lending a hand wherever one was needed—the former Royal Army, and not just Gulcasa, Zilva, and Nessiah. The idea was that all of them together should work to undo the damage the war had left on the countryside; providing a united front made it easier to do that.

Besides, it helped the civilians who'd been worst hurt by Fantasinia to overcome their remaining prejudices. It was hard to dislike the one who brought medicines for your sick grandparent or child and fixed the holes in your roof so it wouldn't leak. It was hard to hold anything against the people who brought in game to be cooked and eaten. And it was easier to understand someone if you knew him on personal terms.

No one who had fought for Fantasinia was willing to go near Bardot. Understanding that, Gulcasa led them around the village when they came to it.

The lot of them were camped outside Drominos, working to bring provisions in for the marshland villagers, when Luciana and Aegina found them.

The twin swordswomen were decked out in their full ceremonial armor, and accompanied by a full squadron of female soldiers each, complete with a flagbearer. While their company stopped once they'd reached the alliance's encampment, Luciana and Aegina themselves marched right on without pausing, making a beeline straight for the circle of tents and stacked firewood where Gulcasa, Nessiah, Yggdra, and a few of the others were discussing the next batch of supplies to be sent. Hearing the buzz of curious voices in that particular direction, Gulcasa looked up—and the color drained from his face.

Nessiah was close enough to hear him mutter "Oh, shit" before Luciana strode up to him in a right state and jabbed her finger in his face.

"What the _hell _is the big idea?" she snarled. "You go off saying there won't be any trouble and not to worry like the only thing we have to be concerned about is that damn princess, and next thing we know, we're getting these garbled messages about you getting kidnapped by angels and Shorehold trying to kill you again and some kind of Brongaa histrionics and—"

"Hello to you, too, Luciana," Gulcasa said with a sigh. She ignored him, going right on with her rant.

"—and spending days laid up in bed and all these grand-scale battles, and you—"

Everyone else present just watched in amazed silence; after a few minutes, Nessiah turned to Aegina, who hadn't yet said a word.

"Can't you do something about her?" he asked.

Aegina shook her head. "Once she gets going, there's really nothing anyone _can _do…"

Nessiah turned back towards Luciana—who was now advancing on Gulcasa, one step for each accusing stab of her finger into his chest, as he backed away awkwardly—and decided he believed it.

"S-so… hello, everyone," Aegina offered with an awkward little smile, to the titters of the audience. "I-I know this may be sudden, but when we heard you were nearby, my sister and I decided to come out to meet you. Even if that… hasn't really gone _quite _as we originally planned it…"

_"—and you didn't even __**think**__ to send word back here for help—"_ Luciana screeched.

"What kept Emilia, then?" Nessiah asked, turning his back on the irate valkyrie and her target so he wouldn't have to keep looking at the awkward expression on Gulcasa's face.

"We had to leave someone in charge of things, after all, and she has a pregnant griffon she wanted to look after," Aegina explained, and giggled. "Also, I—think she's trying to avoid hurting your feelings… her fifteenth birthday's not far off, and she's been shooting up like a weed these past few months."

"Oh, gods." Nessiah covered his face in both hands. "How much?"

"Two and a half inches," Aegina said almost meekly. Nessiah groaned; a few people in the crowd giggled, and someone patted Nessiah's shoulder sympathetically.

It was really only to be expected—height seemed to run in Brongaa's line, after all—but that didn't make Nessiah feel any better. Gods, at this rate the only person who'd stay shorter than him was _Nietzsche._

"Anyway—I really am glad that you're all okay," Aegina went on, and Nessiah looked up with an effort. "I never expected for you to have to keep your promise under circumstances like these, but… I don't know how to thank you for keeping my brother safe."

Nessiah shook his head, embarrassed. "I-I didn't really… he still got into quite a bit of trouble anyway, and I certainly wasn't the only one who helped get him out of it…"

_"—so if you happen to have any great excuses, now might be the time to trot 'em out!" _Luciana finished, and planted her hands on her hips, waiting and fuming.

There was a short silence.

"First, let me say—ouch—I think I may have gone temporarily deaf—" Gulcasa closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over his ears, evoking more crowd giggles and making Luciana hiss at him. He shook his head twice as though trying to clear it, and then settled his hands on her shoulders. "But more importantly—I'm sorry for worrying you."

Luciana blinked, flushed, and made a face.

* * *

According to the twins, life in Bronquia had been downright uneventful since Gulcasa and Nessiah had left. With the coming of spring, the people of the local villages and what remained of the Imperial Army had gotten right back to their all-consuming project of reconstructing Flarewerk and Castle Bronquia. Aegina reported that although truly repairing the Arc of Triumph would be some time in coming, the outer districts of the city just inside what remained of its wall were already complete. Civilians had started moving back in, with farmers working what was left of the fields and merchants reestablishing their trades.

"You Fantasinians better be ready to put your backs into it too," Luciana snapped, giving the former Royal Army in general a jaundiced glare.

"That's kinda half the reason we're here," Milanor had the audacity to point out. She threw a rock at him.

Back when the reconstruction had only just begun, Gulcasa had made the decision that although soldiers would move back into Flarewerk along with civilians, he and his family would stay in the village that sheltered them until the city was rebuilt. They would only move back in for real when Castle Bronquia was in a suitable state of repair—and the castle was last on the reconstruction list.

"The civilians need their homes and lives back more," Gulcasa explained with a shrug, as though it were obvious. "My sisters and I? We're fine where we are. We spent years learning how to pick up and plant ourselves anywhere, and our stations won't change depending on where we happen to be in Bronquia."

Perhaps it was the absence of some of those refugees; perhaps it was just that he'd grown used to the castle cities of Paltina and Karona. For whatever reason, Nessiah found himself thinking how quiet and lonely the village looked when their party arrived there. He wondered at that thought once he'd had it, shaking his head at himself. The commanders of the Royal Army were here. Luciana and Aegina were here. The villagers might be content to go about their lives peacefully, but no matter their surroundings, their visitors couldn't help supplying high drama wherever they went. Even if the village were quiet now, it wouldn't stay that way.

As if to add punctuation to that thought, there was a happy squeal from the direction of the village main, and Nessiah spotted Emilia trotting up to meet them.

Usually, the girl wore elaborate gothic lolita dresses and petticoats, plain leather over less fanciful costumes for griffon work, or some form of armor combined with either if she intended to fight. At the moment, Emilia was dressed down considerably in a worn-looking jerkin over cotton shirt and breeches, with her hair falling loose down her back. Her sleeves were shoved up, and her hands and face looked like they'd been hastily scrubbed.

She made a beeline for Gulcasa and all but tackled him, squeezing him tightly for all of ten or twenty seconds before shouting a breathless "hello" to the other visitors, and running to come hug Nessiah. He stiffened a little when she did, but forced himself to relax. Enough forcing, and that little flinch and bristle wouldn't be reflex anymore.

Nessiah refused to consider how long that might take.

"We heard about everything," Emilia told him. "Thank you for working so hard to keep my brother safe."

Embarrassed again, Nessiah tried to protest, but Emilia drew back and lightly smacked his forehead when he did.

"Don't be like that, you silly Nessiah! Everybody worked really hard, but you're the one who was risking the most."

She seemed—a lot more sure of herself than Nessiah remembered. Was it just the inch and a half she now topped him by, or the time she'd spent keeping her sisters in hand while he and Gulcasa had been away? He wasn't sure, and knew he couldn't ask her directly.

When he didn't protest again, she turned back towards everyone else. "There's room for everybody in the refugees' houses and the empty rooms where we've been staying. Wanna get moved in now and worry about everything else later, or…?"

"We'll set our things in order now, and thank you," Yggdra replied, speaking for everyone. "If your brother and I are to reach Shorehold tomorrow, we'll need to get our rest early."

"Aww, you're not even gonna stay here and unwind at _all _before you do?"

"We can't stand by and leave them be any longer," Gulcasa said flatly. "They've already tried to kill me twice. We have to do something about them before they get aspirations again, and they'll listen to Yggdra. We'll only be taking a few with us, but it means we need to hit the hay early and get an equally early start."

"I _guess _that makes sense…" Emilia drew the words out and tucked her chin a little, staring up at him reproachfully.

"We want to make sure we're here for the festival preparations, too," he added. "So we don't have much choice—we don't know how long talking them around is going to take."

"Since when did _you _get all responsible…?" Luciana grumbled from somewhere behind them. Someone, presumably Aegina, hushed her quickly.

"We-e-e-e-ell, come on and we'll get you set up then," Emilia said with a shrug. She turned, made a beckoning gesture with her arm, and led them through the village roads towards the slightly undersized mansion Nessiah had left—gods, was it really only a few months ago? It felt like it had been years since.

"You're awfully underdressed for the occasion," he heard Gulcasa remark as they walked.

Emilia reached up and punched him in the shoulder. "I didn't exactly have much advance notice, you know!" She laughed, though. "Make sure you don't give anybody my room, 'kay? I have to get going again in a couple minutes."

"Why—oh, right, that griffon of yours. She's due to give birth tonight, then?"

"Nope, she dropped the litter a couple hours ago—they're real cute. I just wanna make sure everything's okay with them all before I do anything else."

At the edge of his field of vision, Nessiah noticed Kylier's expression darken and her walk slow. As he turned towards her, though, she shook her head minutely and forced normalcy back across her features, quickening her pace again.

"Huh. Still, that was pretty late. Is that why…?"

"Well, that and I just wanna be there. Wasn't it the same with you and Bella, every time _she _got knocked up?"

Gulcasa's dragon made a low whuffing sound; he turned to her with a scowl.

"Oh, don't you start looking at me like that _now. _I couldn't have taken you into battle if you'd been pregnant, and you'd be damn miserable right now if you _were. _And what about all those times you were so eager to have babies and completely forgot what a pain they are?"

She stretched out her neck and clamped her jaws around his arm; he yelled and swatted her lightly on the muzzle.

"You don't have to _bite _me!"

She snorted as if she were disagreeing with him, and Emilia laughed. Their conversation turned to other things, and Nessiah saw Kylier relax.

* * *

Later that night, once Roswell and Nessiah were well settled into Nessiah's room, the angel brought up what he'd seen.

"What do you intend to do about it?" Roswell asked when he was finished. When Nessiah looked at him—he wasn't sure he'd given the impression he wanted to act—his lover just shrugged. "Knowing you, I'm sure you have some kind of plan. If you didn't want to meddle, I'd have to start worrying about possible blows to your head."

Deciding to let the gentle dig pass, Nessiah shook his head. "That's just the thing—I don't _know _what to do. Kylier knows me as well as you do; she'll _expect _me to meddle, and won't grab any bait I might dangle. I just… I know how determined she is to punish herself, but I don't think I can go on seeing her miserable. It's damn _weird _seeing her miserable, since she's spent so long acting as my, my constant self-esteem booster."

Roswell smiled and leaned to kiss the nape of Nessiah's neck, resting both hands on his shoulders and rubbing them in gentle circular movements.

"Just relax right now. I know you want to help her—you'll be able to think more easily if you aren't so tense. Don't worry. I know you'll think of something."

Nessiah leaned back against Roswell, giving up for the time being. "I wish I had half the faith in me that you do."

Roswell chuckled.

* * *

By the time the two of them made their way downstairs and outside, Gulcasa and Yggdra had already departed. They'd taken Luciana and Aegina with them, along with Durant, Mistel, and both their sets of bodyguards.

Everyone else was enjoying their breakfast, or at least seemed to be. Nietzsche was happily chattering to a few of the villagers, with Pamela and Cruz interjecting remarks of their own, and Emilia was pestering Russell and Flone about something or other. There were open spots near Gulcasa's youngest sister, so Nessiah was steering Roswell towards them when Emilia turned towards Kylier, redirecting the conversation in a heartbeat.

"Hey, you wanna come in with me and help out with the griffons? I can trust you to actually be _competent _with 'em, after all—"

Kylier's shoulders went up. Her spine fused. Seeing it, even from a distance, Nessiah's did too—and something cold and hard settled inside him, despite the gentle arm Roswell had slipped around his shoulders.

"No," Kylier blurted with an abrupt kind of vehemence.

"Huuuuuuuuuuh?" Emilia scowled at the Vanir, tilting her head to the side and folding her arms. "They're the same as the griffons you've got at Lost Aries, so you don't have to get all snobby an'—"

Kylier's expression was very cold, almost masklike, as she stood up.

"I don't do that anymore," she said simply, and walked off.

Nessiah was only a few paces behind her before he even realized that he'd left Roswell's side. "Kylier, wait—don't just walk off like that! This would be good for you, you _have _to see that—"

"Just shut it, will you?" she snapped, not even turning to face him. "It's not a matter of things being good or bad for me—it's about honor and responsibility and—"

"Kylier, just—" Nessiah began helplessly. He had no idea what he was doing, no idea what he was trying to say, other than the fact that he had to do _something _to get Kylier to face up to what was an essential part of her.

"Just _nothing! _Ness, I know you mean well, and I know I might get to like working with Emilia and everything! But I don't _deserve _to call myself a griffon breeder after what I did to Al!"

Nessiah didn't know what he could say. He'd gotten through receiving an imprint of her memories without a hitch, but that one—that one out of all of them had actually given him a few vivid nightmares.

At the battle for the Arc of Triumph, the ancestral gates to the city of Flarewerk, the Royal Army had been all but stymied by the thick guard Gulcasa had placed there—and the barrage of the two Ankhs Nessiah had created to destabilize Verlaine. The late Court Magister, Eudy, had fused them to a cannon in an extremely unstable, combustive force of magic and chemistry. That kind of thing had always been her specialty; she'd been the kind of woman who was infatuated with any kind of pyrotechnics. And she'd devastated Yggdra and her troops with it.

From what Nessiah had heard, the army had bunched up to protect Roswell so that he could try to fight it, to dismantle it by magic. He'd succeeded in destroying one of the Ankhs, but the effort had nearly killed him. Rosary had still hoped to claim the remaining Ankh, and Pamela's magic was too untrained—so Eudy had continued raining magical hell on them until Kylier arrived.

And Kylier—well, her solution had been a real winner. Concluding that there was no other way to get the Royal Army (and more importantly, Milanor) into Flarewerk alive, she'd recklessly attacked the magical cannon itself. The explosion resulting from the collapse of Eudy's intricate system had blown a huge hole in the Arc of Triumph, badly wounding many of the troops there. It had killed Eudy, and nearly killed Kylier, too. What had saved her was that her griffon mount had been between her and the full force of the blast—he'd taken the magic and the shrapnel that would've claimed her life.

Kylier had been in and out of consciousness for a long time afterwards, but one of the first things she'd seen after the explosion had been her griffon's mangled body. The memory was terribly vivid, and the grief it carried along with the amount of damage always made Nessiah feel very ill.

"He was mine since before he was even _born," _Kylier said, her voice choked with tears. "We went through everything together. Everything. And I repaid him by making him die that way… what kind of griffon rider am I if that's what I do to my partner, an animal that I've conditioned to trust me completely?"

"…Kylier…" Gods, what could he say? What could he say to stanch this emotional hemorrhage, to heal her wounds as she'd healed his? "He must have known what he was doing, as much as you did. His life was worth something. It wasn't just spent in vain…"

"No matter how much I tell myself that, though…" Kylier shook his head. "No matter how much I tell myself that, I know I'm not worthy of working with griffons ever again. How could I be? How could I ever be?"

"You don't need to punish yourself like—" Nessiah began helplessly. Kylier raised a hand and cut him off, shaking her head.

"Yes. Yes, I do. And I understand that you've only got my best interests at heart, but I'm not going to let you stick your nose in. This isn't yours, this isn't ours—it's mine. I have to deal with it by myself."

She walked off. Nessiah stayed where he was, hardly even able to watch her go through the sharp and sudden pain in his chest.

Kylier had never outright rejected him like that before. And he didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

* * *

Gulcasa and Yggdra were back three days later, their entourage trailing behind them.

Nessiah knew things had gone well from the moment he noticed them meandering up the road. Their walk wasn't the tense march they'd left in, but a much more relaxed and informal amble; the Royal and Imperial banners were carried at easy angles instead of lifted strictly high. Their emotional atmosphere was saturated with relief; Nessiah watched it and probed its edges before sealing off his empathy again. Seeing as the story they bore was a happy one, they deserved to tell it for themselves.

And tell it they did, with relish, over the night's dinner.

"The fiefdom spotted us long before we actually made it there, of course, so they were up in arms by the time we got there, bristling their weapons at us and making a damn good effort at not looking terrified when they saw me heading the march," Gulcasa related, raising an eyebrow as he settled back in his chair. "Some of the younger soldiers looked like they were ready to just keel right over from fright, though—they weren't doing as good a job of pretending as their commanders were, and even _they_ were about as pale as marble. We say we want to talk, and they basically told us to take our talk to hell with us. Which was when Yggdra came up from the inside of the formation and asked if the united embassy could be let through to parley."

Yggdra blushed and shook her head, but Gulcasa went right on.

"Well, the soldiers' eyes just about fell out of their heads, and you could tell they had no idea what to do or if this was some kind of bluff. Then some bright sentry pointed out the fact we were flying Fantasinia's flag along with Bronquia's, and they sent runners back to their noble higher-ups to ask what they were supposed to do now.

"The answer came back that Yggdra and her escort could be let through. Yggdra didn't exactly like that—she went right up to their messenger and told him in no uncertain terms that we were _all _her escort, like she and her men were mine. If we couldn't come in, she'd cool her heels outside too, and we weren't leaving until there were diplomatic discussions. I believe there were some implications that we'd resist if they tried to remove us—" there was laughter here from everyone who'd accompanied them. "Either way, there was some hemming and hawing out of Shorehold, until they finally decided to let just Yggdra, myself, and our personal guards through. We left the rest of the delegation outside with orders to bust through the defenses if it looked like there was any funny business, but to stop short of slaughter.

"I think the lord and lady Shorehold were the most apoplectic out of the lot—they were not happy having yours truly around, I'll tell you that; having Yggdra got us to them, though, and they were willing to listen to what she had to say."

"What _I_ had to say—" Yggdra shook her head, growing redder and redder. "All I did was ask them to explain their feelings against you and your court from their beginnings, you were the one who really—"

Gulcasa shook his head, raising his eyes heavenwards. "All that aside, it turns out the major part of the squabble was that a dead ancestor of theirs and one of my own were on decidedly bad terms, something near to blood feud. So when Fantasinia came knocking during the last war, they volunteered their assistance readily, and kept hold of their expanded territory as a kind of justification when things went bad with my esteemed predecessor."

More laughter here.

"Turns out they actually harbored quite a few people with connections to the old blood when the purges started up—that was the real surprise. We didn't expect they'd actually given much of a damn, but they didn't like it when the innocents started suffering. They don't have anything against the management here, just against me—that blood feud again. Seems like they planned to take over, but keep things running basically the same as before."

Yggdra interrupted here, smiling brightly. "And then Gulcasa told them that he understood their grudge, but that he wasn't his great-grandfather and that they shouldn't look at him as if he was. That he was talking to them as their Emperor, and that they were part of Bronquia, the same as everyone else. That they were at risk along with the rest of the country, and that they needed to know like everyone else how much he'd done to keep them safe. That some of the things he'd done had their repercussions, too…"

Gulcasa shook his head. "They weren't exactly happy to hear about Brongaa deciding he'd rather have the land than his people, but I just think it helped them understand why it's a bad idea to poke at me, is all."

"The people of Shorehold didn't understand the Ritual of Soul Unbinding—what it was for, how it worked… or the risk it posed on all sides," Yggdra elaborated for him. "They were… the last people to know that despite their grudge, their stance, Gulcasa would still have sacrificed his life to protect them."

"Egh… long story made short, Shorehold found it in their hearts to quibble over a treaty with us, and although it may take a while for some of them to cool off in full, the hatchet is ostensibly buried." Gulcasa shrugged and folded his arms, looking distinctly embarrassed. "And not a moment too soon—we have a festival to get ready for, and it's difficult to do that if someone within your own country might be trying to kill you. With this—we're finally only going to have to worry about our own problems from here on."

* * *

"Are you proud of him?" Roswell asked Nessiah later that night, when they stood together at the windowsill, looking out over the sleeping village.

"I am," Nessiah said softly, and smiled. "Sometimes, watching all of you struggle through the entanglements of human bonds and politics, I really feel my age. When you've lived as long as I have, you believe you can wait through anything to get the results you want—either that, or force the change with your own two hands. But Gulcasa and Yggdra are stepping through the obstacles propriety sets in front of them so delicately, so carefully… they're doing things the right way, and it's taking less time than I've ever seen it. They're so young. I should trust you young folk with your future more than I do."

"There's no truly fast way to peace," Roswell mused. "It may be years before Shorehold has really forgiven Gulcasa. But now that it's on paper, there's a chance for that to happen. If we keep holding out our hand, giving the other party a chance… then surely things will change for the better someday. I want to believe that, at least."

"The situation with Asgard mightn't have become so severe if we'd been able to do that," Nessiah said with a sigh. "Politics in the heavens are tiresome and unforgiving, though. By the time they were satisfied, everyone here would likely be old and gray but myself. It's no wonder Celina wasn't able to interfere on our behalf openly."

Roswell didn't answer that, opting instead to slide an arm around Nessiah's thin shoulders. "…Well, we do only have our own problems to worry about now. Let's enjoy the respite while we have it, hm?"

Nessiah leaned against Roswell's side. "…It all comes back down to that, doesn't it. I've been thinking about it nonstop, but… Kylier is too wise to my tricks. So I've come to the conclusion that if I want to do something to help her, I need to do something decidedly unlike myself." He hesitated, then sighed. "This is _not_ going to be enjoyable."

Roswell smiled. "When are you going to ask him?"

Nessiah made a face. "Tomorrow morning, if I can get him alone."

"Once she stops being angry, she'll appreciate how difficult this is for you," Roswell murmured, bending a little to kiss Nessiah's forehead. "Your heart is a kind one, even if you are too manipulative for your own good."

Nessiah would've made some kind of retort, but that was when Roswell's hands gathered up the skirts of his underrobe, sliding beneath it so that his palms could run up the bare skin of his sides, and all Nessiah could do was shiver and gasp softly at the warmth that trailed in their wake. He knew what Roswell was saying—there'd been enough deep discussion for one night—and even though he couldn't have protested if he'd wanted to, he quite agreed.

Still, it was a niggling hope in the back of his mind as they fitted their bodies together softly, sweetly, pleasure as much ache as flame. If this went well, then the next night there would be no worries as they made love—only relief.

* * *

"T—time out. You want I should _what?"_ Milanor repeated, staring at Nessiah with his brow furrowed and a slightly disturbed expression on his face. "Why should I listen to you?"

Nessiah drew a deep breath, then released it. "Because I'm not asking you this for me. It's for Kylier, _everything _is for her. Don't you see? She'll expect some sort of scheme from me, but not from you. She'll keep her word, keep away from what she was born to do, and keep herself miserable for the rest of her life if we don't do _something._

"Given my druthers, I would really rather ask _anyone_ but you. But you're the only one I can turn to. Please. She's as important to you as she is to me—maybe more. And this is all for her."

Milanor's expression changed from stark disbelief to a resigned grimace.

"Well, dammit, ya have me where all I can do is say yes. I'm not helpin' ya 'cause I want to, either—Kylier's more important than you or me, and dammit if you ain't right about all this. So I'll help out, just this once."

Something of Milanor's stubborn expression and reluctance juxtaposed with his ready agreement reminded Nessiah briefly of Gulcasa. The tense knot in his chest that had been there since he'd realized he would have to join forces with Milanor loosened, and something in his heart softened.

Perhaps Milanor would have done something involving manly honor or the contracts of a thief, but all Nessiah could do was relax his guard a little, and offer a slight but vulnerable smile.

"…You know, right now I can understand a little what she sees in you."

And Nessiah knew he wasn't mistaken, because instead of retorting with something snide, Milanor looked a bit surprised and just nodded once, almost solemnly.

* * *

When Milanor asked Kylier awkwardly if she wanted to head out for a bit of a walk, she agreed readily. She was sick to death of everyone staring at her with such pity, sick to death of the little nudges and hints that she would be best off heading out to join Emilia in the stables. She'd made her resolve a long time ago, and she was damned if she wouldn't stick to it. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it felt like it was ripping her apart from the inside. Al deserved nothing less.

So she was happy for a break from all that with Milanor, happy when Milanor talked about everything but griffons. It was good to be able to look back on the early days of their friendship without touching on any sore spots, so they could just laugh and not be hurt.

They wound their way through the village, finding places to sit and talk. Kylier mostly listened to Milanor—he'd resolved long ago that he would lead the rest of the former Royal Army in becoming stronger, intending to equal the power of those of Yggdra's allies who happened to have contracts just so that they wouldn't be left defenseless in the case of a bad angelic attack. And, to be fair, it was probably just his attempt to compete with Nessiah, too. The main part of the plan had worked, but Kylier hadn't really known until now the kinds of crazy ideas for training Milanor and Cruz had dreamt up, or the drama and rivalries they'd had with Durant, who'd been jealous as usual. Sometimes she had to make him stop talking or direct his attention to the bakery or butcher's shop just to remember how to breathe.

She'd been having so much fun with him that she didn't even realize exactly where he'd herded her until they'd been there for a moment or so.

It was stupid of her, yeah, but Milanor had gotten them there _damn _quick, and then they'd plopped down in the field's grass and were trying to decide what clouds looked like. Kylier was having way too much fun to really be aware of her surroundings until she heard voices that were way, _way_ too familiar.

"It's alright to let them out like this without a line on her, or anything…?"

"Yeah, it's fine! They're waaaay too little to try flying, and she'll stay here to look after 'em."

That was Nessiah. Nessiah and _Emilia. _Oh, this was bad. Kylier sat up with every intent to make a quick exit stage right—

—at least, until she saw them.

Emilia and Nessiah were leading a beautiful fawn-and-sable griffon into the paddock Milanor had decided would make a nice place to lay, the kind of animal Kylier might work for a decade or more to breed successfully—of the same caliber Al had been. Trailing after their mother, wobbling and cheeping and nipping at her feathers and Emilia's boots and the skirts of Nessiah's robes, were six roly-poly balls of downy white-and-fawn fluff.

Griffon chicks.

Week-old griffon chicks.

Kylier's hands started to shake.

She only noticed that Milanor had sat up when his hand clapped her shoulder warmly. "Go on," he said gruffly, a little tenderly. "Get over there with those guys. You 'n I both know that's where you wanna be."

Kylier shook her head mutely, desperately. "I—I can't, I have to go, I—"

"Look…" Milanor made a face. "There's no use goin' hurtin' yourself tryin' to deny it. Griffon breedin's in your blood, Kylier; has been since Lost Aries turned into Lost Aries, I bet. You love 'em. I know you're never gonna forgive yourself for what happened to Al, but—he'd be pretty pissed if he saw you mopin' like this. He loved you to little bits. He wasn't some dumb animal, neither—he knew what he was doin' as well as you did. He'd'a balked otherwise, right? It don't mean you're forgettin' him if you decide you wanna look after griffons again."

"…I, I just…" Even though she protested, even though she'd _sworn_ she'd never do this again, Kylier's gut twisted with longing as she watched the babies stumble after their mother, tripping over their own paws. Oh, good bloody _God, _she couldn't look away.

"Go on now," Milanor murmured. "Get over there. Do for the little ones what you couldn't for Al." And he squeezed her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Trembling, Kylier stumbled to her feet and began to walk. She thought she'd locked this part of her heart away back then, but—she knew from these feelings that she couldn't fight it. It would be like not loving Milanor, not being there for Nessiah. It was just against her nature.

Maybe—maybe it was time to take this part of herself back. Not in spite of Al's memory, but in it.


	22. shall we dance?

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Nessiah should've expected as much—Kylier cooled off a lot faster than, say, Roswell would, but she didn't forgive things instantly the way Yggdra did either. Even though she let Milanor get off with a halfhearted punch, she didn't talk to _him _for several days on end.

It hurt, but seeing her with Emilia, watching the two of them talking enthusiastically about things the little grifflets had been doing that day, was well worth any temporary pain.

And she did eventually stop giving him the cold shoulder, anyhow.

Exactly a week later, the conversation Nessiah and Roswell were having over dinner was interrupted when Kylier planted herself in the seat next to Nessiah's.

At first she didn't talk to either of them; she just sat and tucked into her food as if she wasn't aware of anything else. Nessiah watched her awkwardly for a while, and just as he was about to turn back to his own plate, she reached out and smacked her fist into his shoulder.

"You dumb stupid jerk," she said, but when she turned to him, she did so with a wavering smile and teary eyes.

"Kylier…"

"You had no right to stick your damn nose in that, and _especially _no right to rope Milanor into it." She smacked him in the shoulder a second time. "Still—still, I'm kinda glad you did."

He couldn't help but smile as he tried to rub his shoulder unobtrusively. "So, does this mean you forgive me?"

Kylier snorted. "Do I _forgive _you. Of course I do, dumbass! You wouldn't be you if you weren't always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. And you must really've been worried if you had to go to _Milanor _for help."

"…Of course I was worried. You were miserable, and I hate seeing you miserable."

"Tch." But Kylier put her arm around his shoulders now instead of punching him a third time, and squeezed. "Lucky for you I can't stay mad at you for long."

"I suppose I am," Nessiah said with a smile, and leaned closer into her side.

* * *

Kylier's forgiveness hadn't come a day too soon—not only would it have been awkward for her to still be giving him the silent treatment while they were expected to work together in the reconstruction, but shortly after she had settled back into griffon work, Gulcasa brought everyone together to talk about festival preparations.

"Every year a member of the old blood has been on the throne, we've held this summer celebration of our tradition and lineage. The year after the coup d'état, we just missed the festival, and what with the preparations for war and the war itself, we probably wouldn't have been able to hold it safely anyway. It's a bit of a mixed blessing, because it's an important part of Bronquian culture; we've been looking forward to it with something like desperation all year."

"Especially 'cause this is gonna be the first time some people have ever seen the festival, we gotta make sure we do a good job with it," Emilia continued for her brother. She was back into her favorite form of dress now that she knew there was nothing wrong with the grifflets. "My brother and I know all the details 'cause my mother told us about it when she was still alive."

"Even though my predecessor and his predecessor knew about the festival, they didn't hold it—probably because among other things, it celebrates Brongaa and the other ancient dragons," Gulcasa said, shaking his head. "And, let's face it, considering it was one of Paltina's men who put Brongaa in his situation in the first place, it would've been a bit strange for Fantasinia to sponsor a Bronquian heritage festival, and they relied on Fantasinia pretty hard. Now that we have the alliance, things are different, but…"

Nessiah raised his hand. "A question," he said flatly. "Considering this part of the festival, is there any chance of complications arising with your esteemed ancestor?"

That actually made Gulcasa _laugh._ "No—if anything, the festival should placate him. He's been sulking ever since the last incident; I get the feeling he's distinctly annoyed at himself that he lost to me."

"So, what all will we be doin'?" Milanor asked, folding his arms.

"While the civilians keep working on reconstruction, our soldiers—along with everyone here—will be clearing the festival grounds. Then surrounding the stage, we'll need to do more mundane festival tasks—setting up booths and tents and such, making what food can be preserved beforehand. And hopefully someone here knows how to make fireworks. We'd planned for that to be Eudy's job, but…" A spasm of pain crossed Gulcasa's face, leaving him with a vulnerable expression.

"Actually, you know what? I can do that," Rosary ventured suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. "I learned to make magic-based fireworks when I was little, and I've always done them for the holidays. Roswell should know how too." She raised her eyebrows at him in an almost playful challenge, and he smiled and nodded.

"The great Pamela will help, too!" When everyone turned to _her, _their expressions ran from doubt to resigned dread; Pamela folded her arms and puffed out her cheek. _"What?_ We do magic fireworks where I'm from, too!"

Rosary shrugged. "Fine, whatever. Soon as we know that _you_ know what you're doing, you can help out too, kiddo."

Pamela's pout grew. "Ooooh, don't talk down to me, you old granny!"

"Stop calling me that, you little brat!"

Nessiah covered a smile as the two witches glowered at each other, turning back to Gulcasa. "I can help with fireworks, too—I know how to make both magical and non-magical ones."

"Actually…" Nessiah wondered whether that half-grin on Gulcasa's face should worry him. "You're going to be too busy to do fireworks with these three, I can guarantee that. We need you working on something much more important."

"What would that be?" Whether it should or shouldn't, it _was_ starting to worry him. The look on Gulcasa's face was practically predatory.

"Well—most of the festival is just festival-ish stuff… visiting booths, eating, watching fireworks and demonstrations by the soldiers… but then there's the paying-homage-to-our-heritage thing. The Emperor's ritual dance. You need to learn your part of it."

Nessiah frowned and held up a hand. "…Forgive me, I don't think I heard you right. I could have sworn you just said that I need to learn _my_ part of _your_ ritual dance."

Gulcasa shook his head and looked down, apparently trying to hide the fact that he was still grinning crookedly (and much more widely than before). "You didn't mishear, Nessiah. You probably never heard before now, but the ritual dance is traditionally between the Emperor and whoever crowned him. You have to take part."

A decidedly strange feeling overtook Nessiah then, a feeling of slight detachment from his body, something he hadn't experienced since—_then._ He felt as if his hearing wasn't working properly, and his magical sight had gone somewhat gray and blurred. It was like he wasn't standing there, but watching through someone else's eyes, feeling through someone else's body, and that someone else's body had gone stiff and drawn back, his hackles starting to rise. The familiarity—even if it wasn't nearly as severe—made him feel slightly ill, as well.

"What—are you talking about?" His voice sounded strange and tinny to his own ears. "…Gulcasa, I can't do this. Can't you—Luciana or Aegina, or… I only crowned you because Baldus…"

Remembering Baldus and Gulcasa's implacable insistence that Nessiah be the one to actually set the Crown of Thorns on Gulcasa's head silenced him. That sick feeling was getting worse.

"About that—not only was Baldus too old to get up and dance, but he himself attested to me beforehand that anybody with two left feet should be stricken from the list of candidates. And I couldn't let any of my sisters crown me and elect themselves to this position because it's altogether inappropriate for whoever's first, second, or third in line for the throne to do this kind of dance with the Emperor, let alone crown him. Nessiah, you're my best friend, and you were also the most graceful of all our other options." Gulcasa rested his hands along his hips and shrugged. "It's not that big a deal, is it?"

"Not—that big a—Gulcasa, I don't dance. I _can't—_I haven't danced in _over a thousand years,"_ Nessiah said slowly, trying not to sound frantic. He caught the length of chain on his left arm in his right hand and shook it demonstratively. "I can't do anything like _that_ with _these!"_

"Nessiah, calm down," Gulcasa said softly, stepping forward into their circle and unfolding the fallen angel's fingers from the round gold links. "You have Restoratus, remember? And the festival is still a week and a half away. That's enough time for you to learn."

"But—" Nessiah shook his head numbly. "I can't, I—" He stopped short as Gulcasa's hands settled over his shoulders, rubbing them in an attempt at soothing him.

"Maybe it was a little unfair to spring it on you like this, and I'm sorry. But we're already at a point where you can't back out of it. Neither one of us can. Just take a breath. We'll learn together, and it'll all be fine. Okay?"

Mutely, Nessiah slumped against Gulcasa's chest. He still wasn't happy about this, but he just didn't have the energy to fight someone as stubborn as Gulcasa.

"Alright, all that aside—we need to draw up a schedule or some such thing for everyone, so that we all know what we're doing for the next week and a half…"

* * *

Despite the distinct feeling of dread that had settled like an ache or a chill into his chest, Nessiah was out by the fence surrounding the field at the appointed time. He'd released his spell, and draped his overrobe along a fencepost, setting his sandals and the Revelation at its foot.

He didn't feel any better about this than he had earlier; if anything, he felt worse. In Asgard, it was true that he'd done a bit of dancing, but although he'd been a _good_ dancer, there were always dozens of _good_ dancers. He was by no means a _great _dancer. And the prospect of having _all Bronquia _watching him, combined with the fact that he was centuries out of practice, was distinctly unsettling.

Or, if he were perfectly honest, _completely terrifying._

He recognized the feeling—stage fright—and was furious with himself for it. He hadn't had to deal with stage fright since he'd been a child; why did it have to choose _now_ to resurface? Because it would be counteracting some great plan laid by the gods for something in his life to go easily and well?

Nessiah didn't think he'd hated the gods with such fervor since he'd been convicted.

"Did we keep you waiting?"

Looking up, he noticed that Gulcasa and Aegina were headed towards him, pushing through the long grass to the shorter circle on Nessiah's side of the fence. Gulcasa was wearing his usual work clothes; Aegina had changed out of her work armor and into a sundress.

"Not for very long." With a shaky sigh, Nessiah leaned back against the slats of the fence.

"Aegina knows the steps for your part. We'll show you what the partnered section of the dance looks like first, and then Aegina will teach you your solo steps." Gulcasa shoved his hair back with both hands and turned to his sister. "You ready, then?"

_No._ "…Go ahead," Nessiah said aloud.

Gulcasa held out his arm to his sister, who placed her hand lightly on it; Nessiah wondered just how much this was going to resemble a ballroom dance. That wouldn't be too bad; he could always let Gulcasa steer if that was the case—

And then the two of them started moving, and Nessiah realized with a sharp sinking sensation that this was about as far from _ballroom_ as a partnered dance could get.

There were the same sweeping graceful steps, true, but Gulcasa and Aegina's hands did not stay locked together; they didn't even stay facing each other half the time. Gulcasa's movements were powerful and sinuous, with a kind of serpentine yet undeniably masculine grace that had Nessiah's insides in knots of longing. It was hard to keep watching Aegina, but there were at least three places in which she twirled like a dervish, the skirts of her sundress flying in a circle almost at her hips; she made elegant movements with her arms, and it was clear by _her_ steps that it was her part that was really in control of the dance.

It made sense—she was dancing the part of the one who crowned the Emperor—but it scared Nessiah deeply, thinking that he was going to have to do this. Wings weren't exactly conducive elements to pirouetting, after all…

Still, watching the two of them made Nessiah want to move, too. He idly bent his right leg back, softly wrapping his fingers around his thin ankle, then stretched it back out, pointing his toes as he tapped them in the grass. From his hip to his toes, his leg formed a nearly-straight line; he was relieved to know he hadn't quite forgotten _everything._

There were a few other elements late in the dance that made Nessiah even more nervous—Gulcasa had a lift towards the end of it, and he held Aegina up for a good fifteen or twenty seconds, for instance—but aside from the trick maneuvers, the remaining steps were mostly straightforward. The partnered section of the dance—and presumably the dance itself, from the look of things—ended with Gulcasa kneeling before Aegina, and her with both hands on his head.

"That's basically it," Aegina said a bit breathlessly, turning back towards Nessiah. "You'll be onstage first with your solo part, and once that's over, Gulcasa-nii will have his entrance—you just have to stand still through that. And then you dance together the way we just showed you, and that's it."

_"That's it", she says, as if it's no great feat._ Nessiah fought the urge to shake his head, and carefully stretched the muscles in his left leg. On impulse, he swung that leg out straight behind him and leaned forward into an arabesque, stretching his wings up above him to help steady himself.

"See?" Gulcasa's voice was gentle, and there was a smile in it. "Your body remembers how to do this kind of thing."

"My body remembers a lot of things," Nessiah shot back darkly, feeling his brow tighten as he regulated his breathing, trying to keep his balance. "Most of those things are unpleasant."

A thin breeze ruffled his feathers, and he flapped his wings lightly, reflexively. The motion made him waver and wobble, and although he circled his arms lightly to try to stay up, he stumbled forwards—and would've landed facedown in the grass if Gulcasa hadn't been suddenly and inexplicably _there, _warm strong arms enfolding him.

Nessiah just closed his eyes and tucked his face into the side of Gulcasa's throat, trying to take comfort in the warmth of being held, the warmth of the sunlight on his back and wings.

"It's going to be fine," Gulcasa murmured in a low voice. "Just take it slowly."

Nessiah didn't want to let go, but he did, and sighed. "…alright."

* * *

When Roswell made his way back into their room, Nessiah was already lying prone, splayed along his side of the bed. His face was half-buried in his pillow, which he held loosely; the rest of him was stretched out along the mattress, and he was naked.

This being unusual behavior for Nessiah, Roswell had to wonder and worry a little. He moved quietly, in case his lover was already asleep; Nessiah's body shifted as he sighed deeply.

"Goodnight, Roswell."

"It's barely seven in the evening," Roswell said softly. He hesitated, then sat on his side of the bed. "…Are you alright?"

"I hurt," Nessiah said dryly, "in places I'd forgotten I _had._ And I am entirely exhausted, a good deal too weak to move very much. Other than that, everything is just bloody peachy, thank you. How was your day?"

"Apparently it was uneventful compared to yours," Roswell murmured, leaning over for a closer look at Nessiah. Noting a sheen of sweat over his too-pale skin and dark marks that played along his body, the mage _tsk_ed softly, sympathetically. "Did you overextend something, _cher?"_

"That." Nessiah drew and released a long breath. "Also, I fell down a lot."

"Poor dear." Roswell reached out and carefully, tenderly ran his fingers down Nessiah's back in a gentle stroke. "Sleep off the pain, then." He didn't have the heart to warn Nessiah that unless he allowed Roswell to massage his abused muscles thoroughly, it would get worse before it got better. Then again, Nessiah _did_ have a little experience with dance from his days in the heavens; he should know already that he'd wake up the next day incredibly stiff, with his body protesting his every movement.

With a low groan, Nessiah gestured with his left arm, first tapping the jar of green balm Roswell hadn't noticed beside the pillow, then waving in the general direction of his scarred back. "If it's not too much trouble… could you…?"

"I don't mind," Roswell answered quickly, and opened the jar, dipping his fingertips into the thick green gel, then daubing the upper part of Nessiah's left scar. He spread it over the thick scar tissue first, then kneaded it, rubbing it closely until it was worked into the skin. Nessiah's only response was a low, appreciative moan.

Roswell leaned down to drop a kiss on the nape of his lover's neck before switching to the scar on the right side of his back. Nessiah didn't even moan; he just let out a soft, sweet sigh.

That was really what decided him. Smiling, Roswell reached into his left pocket and withdrew the shallow jar of translucent lotion, opening it as quietly as he could. He'd intended this for a more sensual purpose, but he could always make more at a later date. Nessiah needed its therapeutic use much more right now.

Nessiah didn't react when Roswell traced a ribbon of it over his shoulder, but when Roswell started to rub it in, he flinched and stirred, trying to look back and see what Roswell's hands were up to. "—what is that? It's getting hot…"

Roswell hushed and soothed. "Warming massage lotion," he said softly. "It'll make you feel much better, and you won't be so stiff tomorrow. Just relax, and I'll take care of everything."

Nessiah held still after that. (Mostly, anyway—he did squirm and whimper a bit when Roswell got to the small of his back, but Roswell expected that; Nessiah's skin was very sensitive there.) Even though he knew Nessiah was in no state for sex, Roswell had still entertained a few ideas of turning Nessiah over when the lotion sank in fully, introducing him to the kinds of pleasure this exact brew could bring. But by the time it had, Nessiah had already fallen asleep.

Roswell brushed his fingertips through Nessiah's tumbled blond hair with a soft chuckle. "Another night, then," he murmured, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss along his lover's cheek. "Sleep well, _mo chroi._ Have some peaceful dreams."

Negotiating the comforter out from under Nessiah's body and drawing it up around his shoulders so he wouldn't get cold, Roswell padded softly from the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

As it turned out, Nessiah actually mastered the solo part of the dance quickly and with ease over the next few days. He could have spared a lot less worry on that, and more on the partnered section—because he'd been blocking on it since he began it.

There were so many reasons, _so _many reasons, why this was impossible and they had to try to find some substitute to take Nessiah's place. First and foremost, this was _Gulcasa_ he was dancing with. The same touch that made him blush and stammer in day-to-day life still took its toll; Nessiah found himself far too prone to losing focus and stumbling, breaking the rhythm of the dance and often barely catching himself.

Then there was the difficulty of the dance itself. Nessiah's wings got in the way of the turns, and he tripped over his own feet on the hardest of steps—even without Gulcasa's help. The lift was a problem, too. If his focus was anything less than perfect, he inevitably bungled something early on and they didn't even _get _to it; if he _did_ reach that heightened sense of awareness where his conscious mind went blank and his body guided him through the steps, the lift seemed to come out of nowhere, and the sudden feel of Gulcasa's hands clamped on his waist set off his every instinct to fight and fight hard. The first time it had happened, he'd broken Gulcasa's hold when he was halfway up, fallen, and cracked the back of his head on a rock. When he'd come to, disoriented and jittery and deathly embarrassed, he'd had all his partners hovering anxiously over him and Roswell announcing that he'd received a mild concussion. He'd gotten that healed, and they'd found a place to practice that didn't have rocks hiding under the grass.

It had set bad precedent, though, and Gulcasa and Nessiah had never even managed to complete the lift. Either Nessiah shied away, or he fought and Gulcasa dropped him. And he wasn't sure how to convince his body that Gulcasa was trustworthy.

And as if all that wasn't bad enough already, then there was their _audience._

"Betya he screws up on the second turn thingie this time."

"No way. He'll miss the pas de bourée before he even gets _near_ the pirouettes."

"You're on."

Laughter.

Nessiah gritted his teeth.

It had started innocently enough—two days ago, Kylier had been done putting booths together and Roswell had finished making fireworks, so they had decided to watch Gulcasa and Nessiah practicing. Nessiah wouldn't have minded that, but then Milanor and Rosary had found reasons why they couldn't let Kylier and Roswell out of their sight. And then more and more people started coming to watch—which made Nessiah self-conscious and nervous—which had meant _Luciana_ had come with them.

And the three of them had started most of the crowd going on this constant betting, this incessant _heckling, _and even without his other difficulties, Nessiah's daily practice sessions were getting to be little more than a living hell.

"Just ignore them," Gulcasa murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed Nessiah's hair. "They're just being stupid."

Nessiah bit his lip and turned back towards his friend, trying to concentrate. "Ah—so, from that part, then—let's…"

But concentration was difficult to grasp with a hostile crowd that large, and Nessiah stumbled on the first step; Gulcasa caught him so that he wouldn't sprawl along the grass, but most of the onlookers balanced along the fence roared with laughter even so.

That did it.

Nessiah clenched his fists tightly enough that he felt his nails bite into his palms, and shoved free of Gulcasa with the blood pounding viciously in his ears. Feeling the muscles in his arms bunch and the pinion feathers of his wings flare out, he began a decisive march towards those onlookers. He didn't realize until later that sparks had been jumping out around his arms, static electricity building in blue and gold snaps and fizzles in spheres around his fists, snapping along his unfurled wings.

"Έκατοντάκις καί κιλιάκις αστραψάτω—" Nessiah began furiously, but as he raised his hand to rain lightning on the bastards' heads, a pair of arms encircled him from behind, restraining him, actually covering his mouth to keep him from finishing the spell. He struggled briefly, but Gulcasa just held on tighter, crushing Nessiah's wings to his chest.

"Not that I don't think it's justified, but you're going to hate yourself if I let you finish that," Gulcasa said so quietly that only Nessiah could have heard.

And then he raised his head. The motion made his hair fall from his shoulder to brush Nessiah's cheek. He didn't loosen his hold even the slightest bit.

"Get out of here," he said, his voice low and dangerous—Nessiah actually felt Gulcasa's chest rumble against his wings and back. "You have no idea how hard this is for both of us already without you all making it about a thousand times worse. Don't you all have anything better to do? At this rate, not only will we be unable to finish learning the dance in time, the rest of the festival preparations won't be completed either. So go. Get the _fucking _hell out of my sight, or next time I won't bother to stop Nessiah when he tries to kill you."

At the force of Gulcasa's words, the crowd drew back uneasily and broke off, members scattering off in various wandering directions. He kept glaring at them until they were all gone, and he didn't release Nessiah for at least a minute afterwards.

When he did, he straightened up and heaved out a harassed breath far too short to be considered a sigh. Nessiah turned to see that Gulcasa had both hands fisted in his hair, raking his bangs back severely.

"That was probably a little much, but—they were pissing me off. And if I'd let you keep at it, somebody or a lot of somebodies would be missing their heartbeat right now. …Damn, Nessa, I don't think I've _ever _seen you that mad."

Nessiah stretched his hands slowly, shakily, folding them into fists and stretching his fingers as far as they could go. Gulcasa was right—the spell he'd almost cast was one of the most lethal in his repertoire; he'd used it before to erase humans from existence entirely. It usually didn't leave much of a body behind. The fact that he'd been so ready to use it disturbed him a little.

"Setting that aside for the moment, though…" Gulcasa let his hair fall and planted his hands on his hips. "The dance. Hell, a week and a half was shorter than I thought; it's more like a week now, _less, _and in that time frame…"

"It's the lift that's the real problem," Nessiah ventured softly after silently ordering himself to take a breath or two. "We've gotten it wrong so many times now that just knowing it's there is making me nervous. If we could only fix that, then maybe…"

"That might be true." Gulcasa made a face and looked down at Nessiah. "You just—_balk_ as soon as you notice my hands are on you. It's starting to get me worried, actually…" And he bent down, folding his legs and balancing on the balls of his feet—it looked like an attempt to get closer to Nessiah's eye level, although it put him about a head under. His golden eyes were troubled, anxious. "Nessa… you'd tell me if someone tried to hurt you—to _touch _you—right?"

Nessiah's heart jolted a little in his chest.

"Because, honestly, there are only a few things I can think of that might make you react that way to me touching you. None of them are pleasant. Maybe there's some other explanation I don't know about, but… at least put my mind to rest that you'd come to me if something like that happened."

His chest just _ached._ Touched and troubled and confused, Nessiah stepped forward and wrapped his arms loosely around Gulcasa's shoulders, closing his eyes.

"If something like that happened here… there's a very short list of people I might tell—and yes, you're on it." It was a non-answer, but it was the best Nessiah could think of.

"…" Gulcasa's silence said he _knew_ it was a non-answer, and he wasn't amused.

Nessiah eased himself back, keeping his hands on Gulcasa's shoulders. They looked like a child's hands there; Gulcasa's shoulders were broad.

"We brought this up back in Fantasinia, didn't we? After that night when you helped me," he said softly, hesitantly. "Gulcasa, there are—there are things, _many _things, that are deeply wrong with me." He lifted his right hand, settling it over his own chest, feeling the uneasy rhythm of his heart beneath his palm. "I haven't forgotten my promise to tell you why that is, how it happened. I've accepted that I'm going to _have _to tell you, and soon. But I'm still not quite ready yet. I just want you to know—the progress I've made, that I'm still making, towards healing is largely due to you all. Everyone here, but… Roswell and Kylier—and you, too—in particular. I… can get past this all eventually. I have to believe that."

Gulcasa stared at him for a long while. "…Alright. I can take that for an answer, at least for now." Then the seriousness dropped from his features, and he shrugged. "Though, _'eventually'_ might not be in time for the festival."

Despite himself, Nessiah smiled.

Gulcasa leaned back and sat, sprawling along the grass. "Nessa, look—tell me seriously. If this is too much, too difficult—if I didn't give you notice in time—tell me, and I _will _figure a way to give you an out. We can simplify the dance a bit, or something."

"I'm—touched that you'd actually consider that." Nessiah shook his head. "Still—I don't want to give up yet. Damn it, I want to show all those people that I can do whatever the hell I set my mind to. Don't you?"

A crooked grin spread over Gulcasa's face. "That's more like it. Now… d'you have any ideas on how we're going to manage the lift?"

Nessiah hesitated again, then sat down next to Gulcasa, folding his wings uncertainly at his back. "Actually…" He stopped, glanced down and interlaced his fingers in his lap, then drew a breath to start again. "I was thinking, if we took a moment or so to help me get accustomed to it—to being touched like that—then we could try it slowly. And if you could not hold on so tightly, that might help, too. It's not so much the touching as the… _grabbing."_

Gulcasa's pause was thoughtful. "I'd considered that. The problem with holding on less firmly is that I'm… a little worried about dropping you."

Nessiah couldn't keep a straight face at that. "You're not worried about balancing me on your palms once you have me up in the air, but _getting _me there…?"

His answer was a groan. "Seriously, Nessa! You're so thin you're practically a _stick!_ It just feels like it'd be too damn easy to drop you if I don't hang on. Without those chains, you weigh _nothing."_

There wasn't any real retort Nessiah could make to that. Too many people had accused him of it in the past, and he knew it was true—drenched to the bone, he barely weighed a hundred pounds. It made _flying_ easier, but he hated being petite.

"Well, we'll try it the other way, then… I guess."

It was partly impulse, and partly the knowledge that it was another step on the path to being comfortable enough with Gulcasa to explain the shadows of his past. And, of course, on the path towards other intimate things as well.

Mostly, though, it was to let Gulcasa know that it was going to be fine.

Nessiah blushed slightly, but reached out and covered Gulcasa's larger hand with his own. Gulcasa looked down, surprised, then turned his hand palm up. Slowly, he knotted his fingers through Nessiah's and gave the angel's hand a gentle squeeze.

His face burning, Nessiah smiled and leaned carefully into Gulcasa's side.

* * *

"So, I'm here because…"

"You're _here_ because we gotta find out if we need to make any more adjustments to your costume," Emilia said over her shoulder, rifling through the closet as Nessiah sat bemused on the edge of her bed. "We practically had to remake it. None of the men's costumes were small enough to fit, and besides, you gotta have room for your wings, so that was no good anyway." Her voice dropped to a mumble that Nessiah had to strain to hear. "Where'd the damn thing get to…? Boooo. Okay, here we go."

She turned around and held up a pair of crimson hakama, giving them a good shake.

"Put this on for starters, I still gotta dig for the rest."

Nessiah would have stood to accept them, but Emilia folded them and lightly tossed them in his direction instead. He had to lean over backwards to snag them awkwardly from the air.

"I'm not wearing the male costume?" he repeated, a bit concerned. Hakama were practically unisex; he'd seen both Bronquian men and women in them. The rest of the outfit, though…

"Nope. It's the same as my brother's, and something like that wouldn't look good on you aaaaaaaaaaat all," Emilia told him authoritatively. "'Sides, there _is_ the whole wing thing and all. The girls' top mostly has no back. Here's your tabi an' your zori."

She threw a pair of traditional Bronquian sandals, then toeless black socks—closer to legwarmers, but shorter—over her shoulder. They landed on the floor, a little in front of the skirt on the bed.

Nessiah shook his head, then lifted his left ankle to undo the straps on his own sandals. "You're sure these fit? The… tabi, those can be made over, but cobbling is more expensive and time-consuming…"

Emilia didn't even turn; she just waved a hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, we've still got your sizes on record from last winter, when we had to make you boots. An' I _still _say we might as well just redo your entire wardrobe this winter. We could _still_ tell you were really cold."

He had no answer for that, and just undid his other sandal. He'd heard the _I _in the 'we' Emilia had used, and considering her ideas on fashion, that was a terrifying prospect. He'd have to try to get Gulcasa to make her reconsider.

The black fabric was soft—angora maybe; Nessiah was more familiar with his woods and metals than with his textiles—and warm between his fingers. He pulled the tabi on; they barely covered his ankles and left his toes bare, but they were comfortable. There was a circle of cord that ran through the tops of both; it was stretchy, not constricting, and there was a hole in the outer layer of fabric where it came through. It was red, and tied in a bow on the outside of each ankle. Even more carefully, he slipped into the zori. They fit perfectly, as Emilia had assured.

Their soles were very thick, though—at least two inches. It made him _very_ nervous. "Emilia, I'm going to turn an ankle in these, if not _break_ it."

"Bull. You'll be just fine."

Nessiah didn't have a reply for that either. He just rested back against the mattress while Emilia continued rummaging.

"Ohhhhkay, here we go!" And the Scarlet Princess surfaced at long last, holding up something small and black, veined with delicate gold thread and tiny beads of the same color in patterns outlining a dragon and stylized clouds. She shook it a little, and pouted. "…How come you aren't in the rest of it yet?"

Nessiah was too busy staring carefully at the top to answer. "…Emilia, how precisely were these made? I don't think you or anyone has _all_ my measurements…"

"We used me—you and I are close enough to the same size. And I'll have you know that I bound my chest flat when we were taking this in," Emilia added quickly, scowling at him. Her words had the tone of a threat, as if he was stupid enough to try to evade her attempts to dress him. "So it should fit you just fine. C'mon, get changed into the hakama. You'll need help with this, but _those_ you can put on by yourself. We need to make sure they don't need to get taken in any more."

"Emilia…," Nessiah folded his arms, tucking his fingers around his elbows. "You know I hate tight clothes…"

"Stop whining and start changing! It's just for now and the festival. Jeez."

He sighed and surrendered. "Alright, _fine. _Give it here. And…"

Emilia tossed the top onto the bed, then turned around and covered her eyes. "I'm not gonna peek, so hurry up and get naked. You're such a _baby."_

Nessiah stared long and hard at her back, then turned towards the bed and undid his faceplate, shrugging out of his robes and letting them pool at his feet. He stepped into the hakama and drew them up, tightening the sash-like belt around his waist and tying it at his hip. Gulcasa had shown him this much, and he remembered how to do it well enough; he wasted no time refastening his faceplate afterwards.

The flashes of bare skin at his hips, before the front and back of the hakama were sewn together at the legs, were _embarrassing, _though. He was used to going nude beneath his clothes—his hatred of truly tight clothing made it impossible for him to endure any form of underwear for very long—but unless people _knew_ that about him, they couldn't tell what he wasn't wearing beneath his robes. In hakama, it was visible that he was naked beneath them, and that made him feel—well, _naked._ Unusually insecure and vulnerable.

It was best to get this over with quickly, though, so he would submit to Emilia for now. "…You can turn around."

Emilia did, and she made a considering "Hmmmmm" noise as she strode up to him, fists planted on her hips in a gesture that resembled Gulcasa's so closely it almost made Nessiah smile. She pulled at the hakama in places and circled him, slipping her fingertips just under their high waist when she was in front of him again. Nessiah folded his arms again, embarrassed.

"Yeah, it looks like these'll fit. Just a sec." And she held up the—well, it couldn't really be classified a _shirt _so much as a halter; it was just the front of one with connectable bands at the throat and waist. Emilia fastened the top, and then worked the hooks in the bottom. From what Nessiah knew, the bottom actually hooked together much like a brassiere—as if this couldn't get any more humiliating.

"'Kay, done!"

Nessiah tried not to fidget. Without anything covering his back, he felt so _exposed._ And if he thought about it too hard, if he _did_ squirm, this outfit would only feel more confining.

"Looks good to _me,"_ Emilia murmured. "We miiiiight have to play with the chest a little more, though." She pointed to a place along the center of the chest where the sides of the halter gaped, forming darts not even half an inch below his nipples. "Do you have any problems with it?"

_Other than the obvious two—that it's altogether too tight and exposes my back?_ "…not particularly, no."

Emilia crossed her arms and stared at him, adopting what might gracefully be called a thoughtful pout. And then she quickly hiked up the skirts of her elaborate black ruffled dress, before Nessiah could make any protests.

She was wearing frilly bloomers, which meant there was nothing for Nessiah to see—other than the pink-rimmed white marks along Emilia's belly. Battle scars, mostly healed.

He couldn't think of anything to say, and so after another moment or so, she shoved her skirts back down, smoothing them nonchalantly. "We all have 'em; it's nothing to worry about. Besides—you won't have them when it matters!"

"…That's true, I suppose."

Emilia smiled at him. "See? There you go. How're things going on your end, with the dance an' all? My brother says it's better."

"It _is_ better." Mostly. Aside from the occasional flinch and the fact that he tripped over his own feet with regularity. Still, if Gulcasa wanted to be optimistic, Nessiah wasn't going to stop him. He hadn't over the course of the war, and he wouldn't now.

"Well, good. You look about ready to go here—it really suits you, too bad I don't have a mirror handy—I've got bracelets for the actual festival and the dress rehearsal; your arms'll look really bare without the shackles."

Nessiah made an assenting sound, although he really had no idea. This wasn't the kind of thing he thought about on a regular basis.

"I wanna apologize for Luciana, too, while we're both standing here."

Nessiah held up both hands and shook his head. "She was just being Luciana. I overreacted." As Rosary had just been _being Rosary, _and Milanor had just been _being Milanor._ Luciana and Rosary didn't surprise him, but Nessiah almost regretted that his truce with Milanor had been so temporary. It would make things easier on Kylier if it had lasted.

"If you _say_ so." Emilia shrugged, the picture of world-weariness—Nessiah had to resist the urge to smile again. "Well, _I_ think you're gonna do just fine, for what it's worth."

It surprised him, that that was comforting. Nessiah hesitated, and _did_ smile.

"That… happens to be worth a bit, actually."

"Oh, a _bit."_ But Emilia grinned. "…Whatever. I'm heading out; go ahead and get naked again. Leave the outfit on my bed though, so I can have that top taken in."

"I will. And—thank you, Emilia."


	23. stainedglass sky

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

The day was typical of a northern summer—clear skies, with the sun's rays only partly obscured by perfect cumulus clouds. It was comfortably warm, but not so hot that Nessiah ever found himself sweating beneath the sun. It felt more like a day in late spring than one in the middle of summer—at least, by Fantasinian standards.

If mild summers like this were the norm in Bronquia, Nessiah could almost accept its bitter winters as the price to pay for them. He'd made the mistake of mentioning that to Gulcasa early in the morning, upon which the young emperor had adopted a smug expression and passed Nessiah's words along to his countrymen. Who in turn also spent the morning looking smug. Nessiah wasn't sure what the big deal was about him showing preference for Bronquia over Fantasinia, but then when one was an exile, one never quite shared others' feelings about _patriotism_ and _pride in one's country._ Aside from Ancardia, he supposed, Nessiah didn't _have_ a homeland that he could feel the same way about.

Gulcasa's attitude aside, the morning and the afternoon were clear and calm, and the lines of his citizens traveling to the grounds they'd chosen were amiable and relaxed.

It was the perfect kind of day for a festival.

"I was actually a bit worried that it was going to rain just to spite us," Gulcasa remarked as he made sure of a pole, leaning lightly against it to test if it was deep enough into the ground.

"It's been sunny almost all month," Milanor pointed out from where he was sitting slouched on an overturned crate.

"That's true, but with our luck…" Gulcasa straightened up and shrugged.

Nessiah shuddered in the shade of the booth's tented cloth roof. "Do not tempt the gods," he said dryly. "They seem to enjoy raining disaster wherever they can."

Neither Gulcasa nor Milanor commented on that—Nessiah could almost see Milanor biting his tongue, and suspected he was doing so on Kylier's orders—and so the last-minute checks continued on in slightly awkward silence. The Imperial citizenry continued to pour lazily in, a slow cascade like honey reluctant to leave its bottle. Holding a pole to keep his balance, Nessiah rose on tiptoe. He spied people he vaguely recognized from Drominos, Bardot, and other small villages, people from the village they were staying in, and more he didn't know. Many of them were dressed in traditional clothing or whatever finery they possessed.

But although he noticed Durant, Cruz, Russell, and Flone greeting the newcomers and Elena (already sporting a soft blue yukata) organizing boxes with Zilva and Gulcasa's bodyguards, he didn't see Roswell anywhere.

"Where'd Kylier and Yggdra run off to?" Milanor asked no one in particular, and Nessiah glanced over at him to see that the thief was perusing the crowds with his hand shading his eyes, as well. "I don' see 'em anywhere."

"Roswell, Yggdra, and Kylier are with Emilia," Gulcasa told him. "They wanted to know more about festival clothing, so I'd presume she's playing dress-up with them right now. Speaking of which, Nessiah, she said to pass on that you're under orders not to get in costume until just before the dance, but that she'd be happy to find you appropriate clothing until then."

Nessiah grimaced. "I'll have to decline there."

"Too bad," Gulcasa said idly. "You'd look cute in a kimono."

Nessiah whirled around and _stared,_ not quite willing to believe what he'd heard, but Gulcasa was rifling through the boxes of cured meat and candied fruit that would be sold here in a few hours, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with his words.

Turning back around, he shook his head and slipped through the rows of festival booths back towards the village. He needed some breathing room, _especially_ if Gulcasa was going to keep saying stupid things like that without thinking about them.

Had he actually been _serious?_ Nessiah couldn't get the words out of his head as he widened his stride, managing to keep from breaking out in a run towards the mansion. _You'd look cute,_ honestly, that was the type of thing he'd expect Gulcasa to say offhandedly to Yggdra. He'd seen enough men saying things like that to girls they were in a relationship with, it just didn't seem to—

And yet, the key thing here was that Gulcasa hadn't been thinking when he'd said it. It was just a stray thought, random but genuine, and if there was truth in it Gulcasa wouldn't stop and examine it because Gulcasa didn't overthink things. Nessiah did. He was doing it now, and he felt nervy and obsessive, but he couldn't stop himself.

_"You'd look cute", he says, like this supposed affection he has for me has some root in physical attraction—as if that's not entirely impossible._ Nessiah wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head as he went. He knew he was nothing particularly special to look at even without his disfiguring injuries. So why in the name of the _gods_ had Gulcasa just dropped that, as if he didn't have the sense to wonder why he was?

The only logical conclusion was that Gulcasa _was_ attracted, and knew that on a subconscious level. But that conclusion was illogical in and of itself. There had to be some other kind of explanation for it, but Nessiah couldn't come up with one.

"Oh, hell," he said under his breath, collapsing onto the mansion steps and resting his head in his hands, his elbows sharp and digging into his thighs. He knew why he was fixating on this so doggedly. It was nerves again, seizing him all over, a sense of terror suddenly ripping through his chest and belly and making him quake. An anxiety attack. It was hard to breathe.

He'd been thinking of anything and everything else all day, but he just couldn't anymore. The terror of failing was just too strong.

The door behind him creaked, and he jolted, whirling around with his heart racing.

"Jeez, Ness, you look like crap. What happened this time?"

It was Kylier. Kylier, with her hair pinned up elaborately, held in place with beaded pins. Wearing an olive-green yukata patterned in huge sunflowers, with a bright orange sash. And a hand planted on her hip, a grimace on her face.

"It's—nothing. Just… nerves." Nessiah wrapped his arms around his folded legs, interlacing his fingers, and looked away. He heard sandals clacking on the steps, and then Kylier was sitting next to him with a faint frustrated noise.

"Damn, it's hard to move in this thing. Ness, if you're nervous about later, you shouldn't be cooling your heels out here. You've gotta keep busy—that's the only way to keep your mind off it."

Nessiah didn't answer her.

"Um…" He turned to see that Yggdra stood in the doorframe now, also clad in a yukata. Hers was pink, with nearly-white cherry blossoms patterned along it; her sash had a thick diagonal checked pattern—red, black, and gold against deep green, more tartan than gingham—and her hair hung loose except for the braids that supported her tiara. "Nessiah, the booths will be open soon… we'll go around the festival with you, if you don't mind. I've never seen a festival like this either, and I think it would be more fun for all of us to see it together…"

"…" Nessiah hesitated, not sure how to turn Yggdra down gently, not even sure whether he should. With these two around, he certainly wouldn't have much time to worry about the performance later.

"Why don't you join us?" As Yggdra stepped forward, Roswell took her place at the door, with Emilia next to him. His voice was as gentle as his smile, although there was mischief in his eyes. His hair had been pulled into a knot and tail at the nape of his neck, and he wore a black yukata with silver stripes down the right side and a white lily low on the left. His sash was also silver, and much thinner, tied at his waist instead of covering him from chest to waist. Emilia had on black hakama—hers a skirt, not pants like the pair Nessiah was supposed to wear for the dance—over a red yukata with a gold dragonfly pattern. "It'll certainly be more enjoyable than just sitting and moping here, and you know that. Let us do what we can to make it easier."

"…alright." Nessiah didn't see what there was for him to do besides give in. It would be better to wait with his friends than without them; at the very least, they might be able to keep him from having a complete nervous breakdown.

"But before we do _that…"_ Emilia held up a finger and wagged it. "You're gonna look silly if you're the only one of us not in a yukata! I have one that's perfect for youuuuu…"

"I really don't want—"

Kylier nudged him, cutting him off. "C'mon, don't be a spoilsport. It's a _festival. _'When in Embellia', right? It'll be more fun if we all do this stuff together."

"Nn…" He turned away from her, making a face.

"Emilia's already shown it to us," Roswell said in a tone of gentle amusement. "It's nothing unreasonable. I do think she's right—that kind of thing will suit you."

Nessiah couldn't get as enthusiastic as his ministrae about this kind of thing. He, like most of the male commanders in the Imperial Army, had suffered more than one attempt by Emilia to stuff him into something pink and frilly. He'd gotten better at evading her than most, but all the same, any offer of clothing from Emilia was always suspect. Unless it was something required and supervised by others, as with his ceremonial costume. (And even then, hadn't she made it so that he had to wear the woman's outfit?)

But there was Roswell's assurance that it wasn't _unreasonable._ And the quiet determination that maybe if he let Emilia give him a yukata to wear, he'd be able to find out what Gulcasa had been after, saying he would be _cute_ in one.

"…_fine._ But just this once, alright?"

Emilia squealed, punching both fists into the air. "Then c'mon, c'mon! We gotta get you dressed up now before it's time to go out, silly!" And she lunged forward, grabbed Nessiah's shoulder, and hauled him inside, dragging him to her room.

There was a purple yukata laid out across her bed, with a dark gold sash piled beside it. The yukata's pattern was faint and subtle, a clustering of small pale violet and lighter gold stars along the hem and the bottom of the sleeves. Nessiah took a moment to sigh to himself with relief that it wasn't as overwhelmingly feminine as the yukata Emilia had selected for Yggdra, then grimaced as Emilia held it up and shook it expectantly.

"We don't have forever, and it's not like it's a big deal," she said insistently, and Nessiah turned his back and undid his faceplate, working the clasps of his overrobe. "I'm leaving it on the bed since you're so squeaky about this kinda thing."

Rather than protest that he was not _squeaky_ about anything, thank you, Nessiah carefully navigated his way out of his robes, leaving them folded on the edge of Emilia's bed before picking up the yukata and hesitating.

"I'll help you with it, just put it on for now," Emilia said pointedly from where she sat on the opposite side of the bed, looking away. Nessiah made a face at her back and did, holding the open front of the cotton shift together awkwardly.

"Have you got it on?"

"…yes." Sort of, anyway.

Emilia slid off the edge of the bed and ran back around it to stand in front of Nessiah, taking the open front of the yukata from him and folding the right side close against his body, the left tightly over it. "Hold your hand here," she told him, placing it where hers had held the folds in place, then quickly adjusted the yukata's length, folding it tightly just at Nessiah's hips. And she carefully pinned it in place, using the tiny looped pieces of wire so that he wouldn't get poked and the pins themselves wouldn't come loose. "An' don't worry about your obi, I'll fix that too. They're really hard to figure out if you don't already know how."

Nessiah didn't argue with her as she held up the dull gold length of cloth to his chest, looping it under his arms and going to stand behind him, her hands working busily and making its fabric rustle. "How am I supposed to get out of this, though, if I don't even know how to get into it?"

Emilia sighed, then giggled. "Well, if you _really_ have to, you can always just hike the skirts up…"

Resisting the urge to groan, Nessiah slapped his palm to his faceplate as he felt his cheeks get hot. "That is _not_ what I was talking about."

"Well, when it's time for you to change into your dance clothes, I need to help you with 'em anyway, so I'll be here to show you how to get it undone. That's more reason why we gotta stick together tonight, you know? We can't be late. Roswell an' them can help us keep the time." Emilia tugged the sash one more time. "There you go, you're all done! You wanna see? I have a mirror here now!"

"Ah—not particularly, but…" There was no use in protesting, though; Emilia had already dashed off and was rummaging through one of her drawers. When she ran back to Nessiah, she was brandishing a hand mirror, which she held up to him proudly.

_It's strange to see myself wearing something so different…_ At least it was the same colors he'd grown used to seeing himself in. If the yukata had been a drastically different color scheme, Nessiah was sure that even with the faceplate and chains, he would have trouble associating the pale young man in Bronquian dress with himself.

"I'm… not sure this really suits me," he began uncertainly, but Emilia waved a hand at him to cut him off before he could get much farther.

"Of course it suits you, silly. The colors are right, and yukata and kimono look better on short-statured people like you and me."

"…Do they?" Nessiah was baffled. He knew he couldn't be counted on to know anything about clothing or fashion—he dressed to hide his body as best he could, and that was all he cared about. If Emilia said so, he supposed he just had to take her at her word.

"Uh-huh. The whole point of 'em is to flatter short people without big curves, since they give a cylindrical silhouette. Since his last growth spurt, my brother can't wear things like this anymore—not that he did except for festivals, but still. Now he can only wear the kinds of things he will for the dance. And his stupid armor, which _I_ thought he was _never _gonna grow into. I hope I don't ever get _that_ tall, all the cute clothes are for normal-sized girls…" Emilia tossed the mirror onto her bed and shrugged. "'Sides, it's the same as with Luciana-nee and Aegina-nee. Dressed like this, you finally look Bronquian."

"…?" Nessiah just looked at her, confused.

"You never see those two dressed in anything but the national colors unless they're in clothes like these, 'cause otherwise their coloring is so obviously Fantasinian," Emilia explained patiently. "Same with you. You _look_ Fantasinian, and you _act_ like you don't belong anywhere. But when you dress like this, you look Bronquian like the rest of us. Got it? This's your home too now."

Nessiah wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that.

"Well, c'mon, you don't wanna make everyone wait, do you?" Emilia held up the tabi and zori he was supposed to be wearing for the dance. "Put these on and let's go. You'll need to take smaller steps than usual; a yukata's kinda constraining until you figure out how to walk right."

* * *

By the time the five of them reached the festival grounds, things were already started, and people were wandering back and forth through the lanes of booths.

"So what shall we do to pass the time?" Yggdra asked.

"The arms displays should be going on the stage right now, at least I _think _so," Kylier answered, "but I dunno if going there is such a good idea. How 'bout we check out the booths instead?"

"What's being sold at the booths?" Roswell turned towards Emilia to ask, and everyone else looked at her, too. Nessiah trailed slightly behind the others, still feeling awkward and unsure.

"Some of 'em have games, but most have food," she told him. "Like candied fruit and meat buns, fruit bread and fried fish or meat, ice cream and cotton candy. Stuff like that."

"…Cotton candy?"

Just those two politely confused words were enough to make everyone stop and turn around, staring at him. Roswell and Kylier's expressions were pitying, and Yggdra and Emilia's were openly shocked.

"What do you mean, _'cotton candy?'_?" Emilia demanded. "Haven't you ever had cotton candy before? Jeez, _hasn't _he?" she repeated, directing this at Roswell and Kylier.

"No," Roswell said as if he didn't know whether to be amused or keep feeling sorry. "He hasn't."

"Jeez, _jeez!"_ Emilia whirled on Nessiah with a tremendous pout. "You're _how_ old and you've _never _had cotton candy? _We,"_ she said with authority, "are fixing this _right now."_

So saying, she grabbed Nessiah's wrist and began to pull him behind her as she marched forward, provoking a suspicious burst of muffled laughter behind him that stopped when he glared over his shoulder, flustered. Emilia led them to one of the plethora of booths, this manned by a middle-aged villager wearing a straw hat and pleasant smile.

"Five, please," Emilia announced more than asked, halting a few inches from the front of the man's booth.

"Coming right up, Princess," the villager said, smiling. He worked at something with his foot, which made the pale blue and pink wisps of… it looked like very thin cloth… spin in the large glass container behind the booth table.

As Nessiah watched intently, Emilia pointed to the machine. "It's a foot pedal, see? It turns it and spins the sugar 'til it's really thin. It's _good, _and you're having some just like the rest of us."

"This is a pretty forceful princess you've got here," Kylier said in the background, laughing.

Emilia turned around to make a face at her, but the man running the booth just laughed along with her. "That's certainly true! And here's some cotton candy for her haste." He held out a round puff of the threadlike candy on a stick, which Emilia took with a happy squeal and immediately started to eat. "And for milady—and Her Majesty—and milord of Branthèse—" Kylier, Yggdra, and Roswell each accepted similar puffs of candy; the vendor smiled and held one more out. "And this is for you, Nessiah-chama."

"Eh—I—?" Nessiah drew back reflexively, flushing brilliant scarlet.

The vendor gave him a confused look.

Roswell's arm fitted comfortably around Nessiah's shoulders as the necromancer leaned closer to the vendor, giving him a conspiratorial, tolerant smile. "He's shy," he said blandly by way of explanation—Nessiah felt his blush darken—and then chuckled softly. "Also, I think this is the first time he's heard himself referred to in such a manner."

Deathly embarrassed now, Nessiah shrugged Roswell off and accepted the cotton candy with a quiet, forced "thank you", turning away from everyone.

While his companions and the vendor all laughed, he examined the spun sugar that fluffed out around the stick in his hand for all the world like freshly combed wool or real cotton. It was sticky to the touch and slightly gritty, and it was also surprisingly warm. Although Kylier and the others had gotten candy that was mostly pink, Nessiah's was largely pale blue.

A little hesitantly, he tasted it. It was very sweet, and melted almost as soon as it touched his lips. It was a strange kind of food, but it wasn't bad. He… liked it, he supposed.

He liked it. Being at a cheerful festival with friends, wearing unfamiliar clothing that he'd been assured flattered him, tasting cotton candy for the first time. He… liked it. It was a very fragile and temporal feeling, a little ticklish and awkward. He felt heat rise to his face again, and busied himself with the cotton candy, trying to eat it so that it wouldn't melt immediately.

By the time he was done with it, he'd managed to compose himself enough to turn back around. Roswell and Yggdra had moved closer to him so that they wouldn't be blocking the cotton candy booth from anyone else who wanted any; Emilia and Kylier were chatting with the vendor. All of them had already finished theirs.

"How was it?" Roswell asked him quietly, kindly, and he blushed again.

"…it… wasn't bad," Nessiah replied hesitantly. From the look on Roswell's face, he understood exactly what Nessiah had meant and that he wasn't just talking about the cotton candy at all.

Yggdra smiled at him, and he realized that she understood it at least partly, too.

Stifling the urge to turn his back again, Nessiah edged forward, back towards the vendor. The man saw and smiled, inviting him to speak; Kylier and Emilia turned to look at him, too.

"Ah… how much…?" he ventured, trailing off when the villager's brows rose in surprise. And had to tilt his head in confusion when the man broke out in a wide smile, waving his hand dismissively.

"I couldn't possibly ask for your money," the vendor said laughingly. "Just like I couldn't ask for His Majesty's, or the Princess' here, or Her Majesty the Queen and her friends'. After all you've done for Bronquia, a festival like this should be a time for paying you back. So of course Nessiah-chama won't be asked to give coin for anything today."

"…I understand why you wouldn't ask it from the others, but…" Nessiah shook his head, helplessly confused. "Someone like me, _especially_ on a day like this, celebrating Brongaa…"

The vendor laughed again. "It's _because_ of the part you played in our history that no one here will see you lift a hand for something we can do. Bronquia wouldn't be Bronquia without you. Bronquia wouldn't be _here_ today without you. After all you've done to defend us, and to brighten the life of our Emperor, this is every bit your festival as it is his, or Brongaa's, or our people's."

"…" Nessiah just stood in stunned silence, feeling his face _flame_ as emotions he couldn't name wrestled in his heart.

"So enjoy everything here, Nessiah-chama," the vendor concluded authoritatively. "You probably had your own reasons for what you did back then, but now it's plain to see you're Bronquian through and through. This festival is here for us to celebrate our country, isn't it?"

Far too touched to speak, Nessiah just tried a smile. The vendor waved him and the others on, out towards the other booths, as another group approached his.

"Wasn't that nice, there?" Emilia elbowed Nessiah in the side, grinning broadly much the way her brother did when he was being annoyingly superior. "I toldja cotton candy is good, and that people were gonna be nice to us today."

He didn't answer her. Roswell placed a hand on Nessiah's shoulder, giving him an excuse to look away; the look on Roswell's face couldn't be called anything but loving. Nessiah would have asked, but Roswell spoke first.

"When did you tell them?" he asked gently.

"Last winter," Emilia answered for Nessiah when he didn't respond. "Constantly apologizing, and with a really guilty look on his face. I almost thought my brother was gonna hit him if he didn't stop saying he was sorry, but…" She shrugged, and Nessiah stared at the ground, flustered.

"I'm proud of you," Roswell said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Um… what _was_ all that about, anyhow?" Yggdra ventured hesitantly.

"My brother's gonna talk about it later tonight, after the dance I think," Emilia told her. "But the short version is, Nessiah was the one who stopped Brongaa from killing all the humans but his own blood. The entire country knows now; my brother told everybody after Nessiah told us."

Nessiah looked up to see that Yggdra was now staring at him with wide eyes, and promptly looked away again.

"…if Gulcasa is going to explain, he'll try to put a positive light on it, and if you want to believe that, I won't stop you. Just… I did have my own motivations, which had nothing to do with the fate of humanity and everything to do with saving myself." He shook his head. "…Yggdra, don't tell me it _never_ occurred to you that it was odd that in the deck of Tactics Cards I created, there's a contract card each for Brongaa _and_ Gill the Dragonslayer?"

There was a pause, and then Yggdra ventured, "Now that you mention it, that is a little bit…"

"The reason no one ever put it together that it was me was that, except for Paltina and the priests who cared for me after she found me, no one knew me as Nessiah back then. I… mostly went by my middle name those days." Seized with a sudden desperation at realizing where this conversation could go, Nessiah lifted a hand and shook his head. "And, please—I can't talk about that now. I _can't."_

And then Roswell was holding him, and Kylier's hand was on his shoulder. It dizzied him, how quickly they had rushed to his aid after only a few distressed words. But then, they knew the full weight of what he still couldn't admit.

Yggdra and Emilia also seemed a little taken aback, but Yggdra readily folded her hands at her chest and smiled reassuringly.

"That's alright. I won't ask," she said softly. And there wasn't even a _now_ hanging in the silence after her sentence, the way there always was with Gulcasa. Her kindness, her acceptance was a sharp pain in Nessiah's chest, even as it soothed him. He didn't deserve it. She wouldn't retract it, though, so he could only be grateful for it.

"Thank you," he replied in a half-whisper, and Kylier gave him one last concerned look before removing her hand from his shoulder. He had to twist around so that he could murmur to Roswell that he was going to be fine to get his lover to let go of him, but once he did, there was only a moment or two of awkwardness before Emilia announced that they were headed off to another booth.

There was a wide array of food being offered at the festival. Emilia steered them towards a booth selling takoyaki and spicy fried calamari, and somehow got into a competition with Kylier and a few villagers over who could eat the most the fastest. Nessiah looked on with Roswell and Yggdra as the vendor there happily judged the eaters, and had to laugh when right after, Emilia did the same thing at a booth that offered rice balls. Nessiah didn't participate then either, but he did enjoy the rice balls themselves; the vendor had seasoned the rice with something reddish-purple and extremely strong. The taste was unfamiliar to Nessiah, and although it burned a little, he decided he liked it.

As with the cotton candy seller, no vendor would accept money from any of them. It seemed to bother Yggdra, too, after the first few. But Emilia insisted that since they'd get the same response from everyone, they shouldn't keep trying to pay and just accept the people's feelings.

Nessiah had gotten used to that part of the Bronquian people's behavior by then. It was the _other_ part of it that he had a hard time dealing with.

"…why _'-chama'?"_ he had to ask in a long-suffering tone as he and Roswell followed after the girls towards the next booth Emilia might choose. "Since this _is_ Bronquia, I've mostly gotten used to the suffixes, but '-chama'? I just… don't understand. At all."

Roswell laughed. "I think it has something to do with the way you look," he replied teasingly. "It's rather difficult to display both their respect for you as an angel and a Dragon General, while also demonstrating their adoration for you as someone small and cute, if they call you anything else."

"…" Nessiah drew up short, starting to go red again, and Roswell stopped, turning back to look at him with a confused expression.

"Is something wrong? I was only teasing… did I come off as insensitive? Nessiah…"

Frowning slightly, Nessiah tucked his chin down and stared up at his lover uncertainly. "…_am_ I 'cute'?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

Roswell raised his eyebrows and walked back to stand with him, placing both hands on Nessiah's thin shoulders. "Where's this coming from all of a sudden?" he asked softly.

"Gulcasa said… earlier… that he thought I would be 'cute' in a kimono. But it doesn't make sense. Even what we have is based on convenience and need, not physical attraction, not really. Still, he said it without thinking, so he would have to believe it's true on some level. And what you said, just now… I don't understand. Am I really 'cute'?"

Roswell was silent for a moment, and then he lifted his right hand to cup Nessiah's cheek, gently tracing the contours of his face with a fingertip.

"You have no idea," he murmured, "just how beautiful you really are, do you? How… _irresistible."_ He leaned in, and Nessiah shuddered. "And while we had very little choice about that first night, our relationship isn't just about need. It's about caring. And, yes… it's about physical attraction."

Nessiah shuddered again. Roswell was close enough to kiss him, and the look in his eyes told Nessiah he was considering it, despite the amount of people around.

"I'm with you because I need you, and because you're important to me. But never forget just how much I want you," Roswell breathed, and eased himself upright with a smile. "Trust me, Nessiah, when I tell you that you are altogether too cute for your own good."

Nessiah could barely _think_ after that, let alone come up with a reply to it. Roswell seemed satisfied with that—his smile went crooked and grew.

"Hey, are you two just going to hang around back there chatting, or are you going to come with us?" Kylier yelled from up ahead. Nessiah looked around Roswell's shoulder to see that she, Yggdra, and Emilia had stopped some ways ahead and appeared to be waiting for the two of them.

"We'll be right with you," Roswell called back, and propelled Nessiah forwards with a hand on his shoulder.

There were plenty more booths and stalls to visit. In the next lane Emilia chose to peruse, they ran into Mistel, Pamela, and Nietzsche; this got the speed-eating contests reinstated very quickly. Nessiah couldn't help but be amazed at Emilia; he had to wonder where the girl kept it all. He already found himself trying to pick out smaller portions of food, aware that if he ate too much more he'd make himself sick.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been watching Emilia's group bolting pastries and nibbling a bun of his own when a familiar hand rested on his shoulder. Looking up behind him, he saw that Gulcasa had come to join them.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Gulcasa offered with an upraised eyebrow. He hadn't changed into his dance clothes yet, but somehow he seemed to look his office more than ever. "You've been surprisingly difficult to track down, Nessa."

Nessiah stood upright and took a step back—it hurt to have to crane back to look Gulcasa in the face—before giving his friend a smile, tilting his head. "It's good to have you here, with the rest of us. Emilia is a little busy, but I'm sure she'll be happy to have your suggestions on where to go when she's done…"

Gulcasa planted his hands on his hips and whistled. "Obviously these guys've done a good job. But we can't stick around to congratulate them—you'd better grab Emilia, it's time to get ready."

Nessiah froze, shock bordering on horror cutting off all outside sound. It was already time for the dance? _How _could that have slipped by him?

"…never mind, I guess I'd better get her myself. _Emilia!_ Stop stuffing your face—we've only got twenty minutes to get to the stage!"

Through the curious buzz of the crowd, Nessiah heard her yelp, and suddenly she was barreling through them. She grabbed his wrist and her brother's, and began to tow them through the crowds. "Crap, crap, we gotta hurry! Move it, people, we're coming through!"

Nessiah just stumbled along as he was pulled, too numb to really resist. The nerves he'd had so much trouble controlling that morning had ripped back to the surface of his heart with a vengeance, and he felt cold and clumsy, clammy and sick. His vision was wrong, but he couldn't think to adjust his ocular spells—couldn't tell if things were too bright or too gray.

Before he'd fully gathered himself, they had arrived at the mansion. Emilia dropped Nessiah and Gulcasa's wrists to wrestle with the door, but once she had it open and turned back towards them, Gulcasa held up one hand to stop her. He rested the other on Nessiah's shoulder again.

"Go on ahead without us and set our clothes out," he said calmly. "I need to speak with Nessiah for a moment first."

Emilia made a face and bounced up and down anxiously. "Okaaaay, but please please please do it quick. At this rate we might not be able to make it…" She turned in a whirl of red ponytails and was gone, tramping into the house and up the stairs.

Gulcasa leaned down, putting his free hand on Nessiah's other shoulder. "Take some deep breaths. You look like you're going to throw up or something. It's going to be okay. This will be over before you know it."

Nessiah laid his own hands over Gulcasa's, gripping them tightly. "I can't do this," he whispered, his voice brittle.

"You can," Gulcasa told him firmly. "You can do any damn thing you want to, Nessa. And don't you dare try to convince yourself otherwise. You _know_ how to do this—we've been doing it all yesterday, haven't we?

"Look… if you can't believe in yourself right now, that's fine. Just believe that _I_ won't mess up. I'll have as much faith in you as you need." Gulcasa said this almost lightly, with as crooked a smile as he'd ever given and a wink.

"But…"

"I believe in you," Gulcasa repeated, softer now, and squeezed Nessiah's shoulders as he did. "Now, come on. Emilia's waiting to help you change." And he smirked as he straightened up. "I'm glad you caved in and let her put you in a yukata, I must say. It looks as though I was right—you _are_ awfully cute in that."

Nessiah went scarlet, dumbstruck. Gulcasa just laughed and steered him inside.

* * *

Nessiah kept his head down as he stepped towards the stage.

He knew the crowds were there, silent, even though he didn't look up at them. They were mostly silent; if they made noise, he couldn't hear it over the sound of his zori on the freshly cobbled path, the rustling of his hakama's fabric, and the heavy jangle of his chains.

It felt surreal as any dream. The edges of his pactio card with Roswell felt sharp enough to cut his fingers; he turned it over and over in his hand, fluttering like the heart of a hummingbird as he stepped forward over and over.

He mounted the steps, seeing nothing but the wide sandy brick of the broad stage and the apricot haze of the sunset sky, and paused on the top step, the edge of the stage itself. He hesitated for a moment, then breathed long and slow.

And turned his palm up as he whispered, "Adeat."

He rose up on his toes, balancing perilously on the edge of his zori's soles, his body bent in an inward arch. His chains shattered into shells of glass, blowing away into nothing like flower petals; the manacles broke, and his faceplate slid apart, each individual piece of blue-violet metal coming loose and lifting away. The pain came first—agony burning his eyes, ripping at his back—and then the incredible sensation of release as his wings unfolded with an echoing crack, a pleasure that was almost sexual. He closed his eyes, and let his spread wings bear him up on the wind for a moment, then eased down. And stepped forward, blinking to adjust.

The crowd was murmuring. Nessiah couldn't make out words, but the tone of their amazement carried well. It didn't surprise him. This was the first time that most of these people had seen his original form—let alone his transformation—after all.

And then the music began.

Nessiah raised his right arm and curled his fingers, his thin gold bracelets gathering at his wrist with a jingle, and swept into the first steps of the dance.

His heart was pounding hard, and he couldn't think. The only thing in his mind was the music, and the next steps—half-remembered, half-recalled by muscle memory alone. His body twisted and his movements were as sure as they'd ever been, weaving a complex pattern of motions and poses, pointing his toes and shaping his hands and furling his wings proudly, his eyes half-closed and his lips parted as he breathed deeply, concentrating fiercely.

He reached the center of the stage almost before he realized it, and slid gracefully from his last pose to a neutral standing position just as Gulcasa mounted the stairs on the side opposite him.

Nessiah was glad he didn't have to do anything but stand and watch—just the sight of Gulcasa in festival dress was enough to knock the breath right out of him.

He looked as much the Emperor as he did in his ancestral armor now—his scarlet hair cast windblown about his shoulders and down his back, stark and bright against the black of his clothes. They were silk—a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt with fastenings down the front, gold piping, and rampant dragons on either side of the line that piping made; slacks with thicker layering than the shirt, so that they maintained a visible crease even as the shirt draped over Gulcasa's broad shoulders and chest. A thin mantle was drawn around those shoulders, fastened with gold braid at his collar; he was barefoot and barehanded, and carried an ornamental but deadly-sharp scythe.

His steps were powerful and assured, half solitary waltz and half combat dance. He spun his scythe in one hand and then the other, tracing a graceful pattern of strikes through the air, his golden eyes nearly closed and his hair and cloak trailing behind him as he moved in spirals across the stage.

Nessiah couldn't look away, could barely breathe. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

Before Nessiah could manage to get back to himself, Gulcasa was already casting that scythe away to clatter along the brick and stone of the smooth stage surface. And then the young emperor's steps were closing the distance between the two of them, and Nessiah had to fight for the chance to get his wits about him before Gulcasa's hand closed on his. As it was, he nearly stumbled when Gulcasa whirled him into the first turn; he barely remembered to tuck his wings close enough.

But after that, after he had looked into Gulcasa's expression of concentration for a few moments, he couldn't suppress the feeling of something _rising_ in his chest. His breathing was rough, but he found himself half-smiling from that sense of—sparkling effervescence, the exertion and adrenaline of barely-perfect movements to music that thrummed in the air, his body moving close to Gulcasa's, the sound of Gulcasa's rushing breath so near to him.

He was _happy._

Nessiah had no time to ponder that revelation. Gulcasa spun him into a close pirouette, and he bent and twisted and then Gulcasa's hands were on his waist, warm and supportive and not at all the shock he'd feared they'd be. He let himself go mostly slack as Gulcasa swept him into the air, then strained to point his lower body perfectly, arching his wings up and stretching his arms down, matching them along Gulcasa's, his hands wrapped around those straining biceps as he looked through his tumbled hair into the golden eyes that were fixed on his.

They stayed like that for five heartbeats, ten, fifteen, and then Gulcasa swept him down, half-crouched so that Nessiah's legs and wings were splayed out along brick and stone, only Gulcasa's hands preventing him from sprawling across the ground. Gulcasa gave him a boost up, and they spun together and then apart, only maintaining contact with the slightest brush of fingertips as they faced away from each other. Nessiah whirled, the crowd and sky a blur of color, sensing more than seeing it as Gulcasa knelt. His tight pirouettes placed him perfectly in front of Gulcasa, and he settled his palms against that tousled crimson hair just as the last note of the music broke the air.

There were a few moments of silence that passed while they held that position, both their chests heaving—just long enough for Nessiah to realize that Gulcasa's hair was damp with sweat—before the crowd _roared_ with approval.

Hearing their cheers, realizing what those cheers meant, Nessiah began to shake, his body losing whatever strength had kept him steady through the dance for so long. His breathing sped up until he was panting, and he might have fallen if Gulcasa hadn't stood, sweeping him up in the same motion.

Held with Gulcasa's left arm supporting the small of his back and his thighs, his right cradling him close, Nessiah sagged into Gulcasa's chest, closing his eyes and resting his cheek to that black silken shoulder. He just lay and quivered, holding on loosely, as Gulcasa gave him a brief squeeze and murmured "I _told_ you so" with a kind of fierce triumph. He didn't reply; he was too exhausted and relieved.

Nessiah didn't open his eyes even as he felt Gulcasa start to walk, as heard the voices of the Bronquian people grow louder—they'd probably gone offstage. He didn't care, as long as Gulcasa didn't set him down.

_I didn't make any mistakes._ The thought was still shrill and breathless, bouncing up and down in his mind. It felt as if he were dreaming, although there were too many details his dreams rarely had; after struggling so long to get the damn dance memorized, it felt too good to be true. But it had to be true, didn't it? It was hard wrapping his mind around it. _I didn't let them down._

So he just hung on as Gulcasa carried him through the crowds, keeping his face tucked into that warm shoulder as kind arms encircled him.

Eventually, Gulcasa came to a stop, and Nessiah was beginning to wonder what he was doing when he heard Gulcasa ask in a low tone, "Do you think you can stand?"

Nessiah hesitated, then nodded.

"I'm putting you down, then. Stay up here with me, though." As Gulcasa's arms gently lowered him, Nessiah opened his eyes to place his feet.

The two of them were standing on a gentle rise within sight of the stage they'd just left. The Bronquian citizenry, along with the former Royal Army and what was left of the Imperial Army, was gathered just below, looking up at Gulcasa with expectant expressions.

Nessiah glanced up at him uncertainly; Gulcasa slipped his hand into the angel's and interlaced their fingers, giving one reassuring squeeze before he turned to his people and began to speak.

"We are gathered here today in order to remember everything we were, and celebrate everything we have become. Because although we have transcended our beginnings as a people, if we forget from whence we came, if we pretend that those times did not shape us, then we don't deserve to kneel at the feet of those who came before us.

"Over a thousand years ago, during the reign of High Empress Paltina, the dragon Brongaa and his tribe—my blood—arrived in this land. And Brongaa claimed it as his own.

"The people, the _humans, _who already lived here were awed and terrified. Most of the great dragons had already died before they, the rightful owners of this land, had been born—before their parents and grandparents had been born. Brongaa's sheer power was a terrible revelation to them; they believed my ancestor might have been a god or a demon… or both. They worshipped him as if he were one; Brongaa was amused by their recognition of their own 'worthlessness', and allowed them to live.

"As lord of these lands, Brongaa's rule was absolute. He who held power, he decreed, would decide the fate of the world; only the strong could ever rule. And although he would not harm his mortal blood and had decided against killing the humans here, Brongaa's greed was insatiable. The only thing he would settle for was absolute rule over this world… and those who did not bow their heads in worship would find their countries in ashes.

"Who was there, after all, to resist? Brongaa was a demon-god to these people, and had nearly godlike power. And the only one who might make a stand against him had no love for humanity.

"But Brongaa was mistaken."

Gulcasa squeezed Nessiah's hand again.

"Having no _love_ for humanity and having no _use_ for humanity are entirely different things. And the angel among Paltina's men created a hero of Gill, one of Paltina's soldiers.

"Nessiah probably had his own reasons. But he gave Gill the power to stop Brongaa, the power that would grant him the name _dragonslayer_ for years to come. And Gill took that power into battle… and used it very well.

"To this day, Brongaa's body rests in the abyssal grotto beneath Castle Bronquia—or the ruin of Castle Bronquia, to be more precise… and until last year, Brongaa's soul was sealed in Galleon Prison, in Lost Aries."

Gulcasa was silent for a few moments; his expression was unreadable. His audience wore grave looks on their faces. Either they were thinking, as Nessiah was, of how Gulcasa had become the receptacle for his ancestor's soul in hopes of saving them all, or they were thinking of the grim realities Gulcasa spoke of so plainly and unflinchingly. Brongaa had been the focus of everything Bronquia was, and in a great many ways, Brongaa had been a monster. Gulcasa was telling them so now, in ways that they all had to accept.

"Those of us who were left… pulled together the remains of Brongaa's empire, and formed Bronquia, our beloved country, the land where Brongaa sleeps. My blood, Brongaa's more-or-less human kindred, took up rule in his stead…

"From Brongaa we kept the creed that the strong should rule, but we learned from his mistakes. Tyranny hurts the tyrant as much as it does his subjects. As I seem to recall someone telling Brongaa once, a world ruled by power alone is a cold and cruel one." Gulcasa's lips quirked, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Compassion, my forefathers learned, serves to temper power and create a stronger authority, the kind of thing people will gladly follow… without being compelled.

"In that way, we're not too different from other countries… from Fantasinia and Embellia and Verlaine. A strong sword, but more than that, a strong _heart_ is what leads us.

"I can only hope that the strength of my blade and my heart can serve you all for many years to come, and that I can live up to my ancestors' legacy of kindness and leadership."

There was a roar of approval from the crowd, and Nessiah gave Gulcasa's hand a squeeze this time. When Gulcasa looked down at him with his eyebrows raised, Nessiah offered him a smile.

"If you can't have faith in yourself, I'll have faith in you instead," he said simply.

Gulcasa laughed. "Smartass."

The next hour went by in a bright blur of sound and motion. There was music, and feasting, and then a beautiful display of fireworks—one even lovelier than Pamela had boasted it would be. She and Rosary smugly accepted the praise of their fellows while Roswell tried to shrug it off awkwardly.

Nessiah didn't change out of his hakama and halter. Gulcasa warned him not to, saying flatly that it'd be a crime to jump back into his normal clothes when he looked so damn good in Bronquia's colors. Nessiah replied that he hadn't even thought about changing back until Gulcasa had brought it up, which was true—he surprised himself with liking the freedom of having his back bare, of having more space to move his wings without constraining fabric around them; he liked his bracelets, too, and the musical sounds they made. He wasn't eager to trade them for the dull clanking of his chains anytime soon.

And he would have a bit more time before his spell ran out, so he might as well enjoy it, or at least he thought so.

Gulcasa concurred.

Emilia tackled him with congratulations, letting go of him in time for Kylier and Yggdra to do the same—Nietzsche piled on too, and Elena had to help pull them off—and preened over how good Nessiah looked in the clothes she'd made. Nessiah endured the lot of them, and nearly died of gratitude when Gulcasa distracted them for long enough to let Roswell get through.

Roswell whisked him into a dark corner where they traded rushed kisses and a few minutes of explosive passion, unnoticed by the crowds—Nessiah would wonder days later if he'd been pushed into a little too much champagne earlier, or if it was just that he was drunk on the success of the dance—and then snuck further into the dark to clean up. They rejoined the others when Nessiah could walk without staggering; Kylier smirked and elbowed him in the side, he told her off, Roswell was swept off with the other mages present, and Nessiah decided that there would be no more sex in public places anytime soon. If ever again.

There was more eating, and then people were returning to the rise to watch the next round of fireworks—Gulcasa pulled Nessiah close to his side as they sat next to each other; sleepy by now and obedient because of it, Nessiah lay huddled against him, looking lazily up at the night sky.

His eyelids felt wonderfully heavy despite the chatter around him, and he entertained the idle thought that this might actually rank among the best ten days of his long life when he heard the crash and sat up.

It had come from behind him, up over the crest of the rise to the place tables of food had been set up for anyone who wanted anything extra. Nessiah stood, stretching up on tiptoe and frowning. The crash had been one of those tables overturning, and the plates it supported shattering.

Roswell and Rosary stood on either side of the table; the legs pointed towards Rosary, suggesting that she'd been the one to push it over. Both of them looked furious, and were shouting at each other—Roswell was flushed with anger, Rosary pale with it. Nessiah couldn't pick out their individual words; their voices overlapped far too closely for that to be possible. Rosary was gesturing violently, and Roswell's hands were angled fists, and shaking. They looked as though they might strike each other if the table wasn't between them.

"Those two," Nessiah heard Gulcasa say in an exasperated growl beside him. "They just don't know when enough is enough, do they…?"

"We should stop them," Nessiah murmured back. "This can't end well—"

Barely had the words left his lips when Rosary's voice rose to a near shriek, covering Roswell's completely.

_**"I don't care! I don't give a fucking damn! If you want to whore yourself around like that regardless of anyone else's feelings, then fine! Fine! I hate you! I hate you! You go die! You just go disappear!"**_

She stood there for a moment, scarlet blotches rising to her cheeks, her shoulders squared and her feet planted wide apart. Her bosom heaved dramatically—_her bosom heaved, _it sounded like some trashy old romantic novel—and her shoulders shuddered, and she whirled and walked away in clipped strides.

Roswell's expression flickered over with deep hurt for a brief moment, but just as quickly, his face closed over, a cold and expressionless mask. He closed his eyes, turned his back, and walked off in the opposite direction, his pace smooth.

Gulcasa cursed softly as the crowd stared awkwardly towards the site of the verbal explosion. "Damn it, can't we have one week go by without somebody's personal drama going over the top? I swear, you people…" Shaking his head, he stood up, dusted his palms against his silk slacks, and strode towards the table, apparently to turn it the right way up again. A few others joined him, apparently unwilling to let their Emperor perform manual labor by himself.

Nessiah stood where he was, his frown deepening. Rosary's outburst, the words she'd used—_whore yourself around_—bothered him. She couldn't have seen him with Roswell earlier, they'd been far enough away from people that no one had noticed anything more than their absence, but did she suspect something? If his relationship with Roswell were exposed now, it could be disastrous…

And since it was Roswell anyway, Nessiah couldn't help but worry. No one in this world or any other could hurt him the way Rosary could—and the way things had been already—

_Should I go after him, or let him be?_ Nessiah worried the end of his hakama's sash, uncertain and unsettled. _I'm not very good at these things; I might just make it worse… but maybe if I get Yggdra or someone to come with me…? How much could I keep secret from her, or anyone but Kylier…?_

"Nessiah?"

He blinked and looked up—Gulcasa was back, and staring down at him with his hands on his hips.

"I've been politely elbowed out of damage control, and it looks like they're going to hold the fireworks until cleanup is done," Gulcasa said flatly. "What do you think, should we go chase after those two shameless idiots or stay here and wait?"

"I—" Nessiah broke off, pressing his hand to his chest. There was an ache spreading along his breastbone, and worry knotted through him as his sense of unease grew stronger and stronger. Something just—wasn't—right—

Nessiah gasped as pain flared through his chest, and curled in on himself, arching his wings back with the pinions spread as far apart as they could get. That incredible, crippling wave of self-hatred and worthlessness, of leaden grief—it had torn through his defenses, through the constraints encircling his empathic magic, as though they didn't even exist. This had to be—

"Nessiah? Nessa, what the hell—what's _wrong?"_ Gulcasa's hands were suddenly clamped over his shoulders; Nessiah looked up to see that the young emperor's expression was intensely worried.

Clutching at his heart, Nessiah shook his head desperately. "Roswell—" was all he could get out.

Gulcasa paled. "Shit. _Shit."_ He pulled back, gritting his teeth hard. "Go find him. _Now._ I'll track down Flone and the doctors. Go. _Go,"_ he repeated fiercely when Nessiah stood there uncomprehending. "We don't have time to waste here, right?"

Those words sent a rush of something terrible and painful—even more painful than the jagged mass of misery—burning through Nessiah's chest, and he started moving in stilted, jolting steps. Once he was past the tables, he broke into a run, and when that wasn't fast enough to escape that terrible something, he cursed and pushed off the ground hard, taking to the air with desperate strokes of his wings.

There wasn't much of a breeze to coast on, and he had to work hard to get aloft, but eventually he caught an updraft that let him bank hard towards the mansion that was housing them all. Nessiah circled the front, counting windows along the northern wall, flapping hard to reach the third from the right on the top floor. The curtains were drawn, and he couldn't see inside; balancing perilously on the window ledge, splaying his wings wide for balance, Nessiah strained to pull the window open. After a few good tugs, he knew that it wasn't stuck—it was locked.

Nessiah swore viciously and yanked, rattling the glass panes. "Roswell! _Roswell! _Are you in there, damn it? Open the damn window, open it, please, gods…" He gritted his teeth, granted madness with desperation, and pounded his fist against the glass. "Open, damn it! _Open!"_

But that didn't do anything except hurt his hand. Seething with fury and terror and too many turbulent emotions to name, Nessiah pushed back, flapping his wings hard to keep still in the air.

"Sim tua pars," he shouted, and magic coursed through his blood on waves of adrenaline. With a sharp cry, he put his entire body into a kick that shattered the glass, spilling it into the room with a clatter.

Nearly sobbing, Nessiah wrenched the wooden frame away, ignoring the stray shards of glass that cut into his hands, until there was a hole large enough for him to fit through. It was a squeeze that wrenched his wings, and he almost cried out as glass and the edges of the wood he'd ripped free gouged their undersides, but he flung himself into the room and onto the scattered glass that now littered the floor.

"Roswell…!"

He saw the blood first.

Ribbons and trails of blood glinted dully along the floor, almost black in the low light, reaching around the side of the bed. Nessiah charged around the posts and froze, his heart in his throat.

Roswell lay sprawled there, his eyes half-closed, his yukata wrenched down to his waist so that he was half-naked, his arms spread out as his chest shuddered and heaved, the blood pounding frantically in the side of his throat.

He was haloed in blood; it soaked into the cotton of his yukata and caked in his hair, a horrific silhouette spreading from the horrible crosses he'd opened on his arms—deep slashes across the wrists, deeper ones from those wrists to the inside of his elbows.

Blood splattered the wall and bedclothes and the bedside table.

Nessiah dropped hard to his knees beside Roswell and fumbled with his sash, ripping it loose and tearing it in two in a desperate motion that made his arms ache. He tied the first half tightly around Roswell's left arm, just above the elbow, a makeshift tourniquet to hold his lifeblood in his body. His fingers couldn't get the knot tight enough on the second, and he unwrapped it and tied it again, his temples pounding, his breathing jagged with tears.

Roswell's lips, his fingertips were blue.

"Can you hear me?" he demanded shrilly, grabbing his lover's limp shoulders and shaking him. "Please! Say something! Just—hang in there—don't leave me, damn you, don't _leave_ me—"

The door opened, and Nessiah swung towards it, shaking and panting, breathlessly choking on mad sobs. "Gulcasa—"

But Yggdra stood framed there, and her eyes flicked over the darkened room and widened and she went ashen, beginning to shake.

Her lips formed Roswell's name, and she dove towards them in a stumbling run, clutching ineffectively at the skirts of her own yukata and then Roswell's upper arm as she collapsed to kneel on his other side.

His blood seeped into the bright pink cotton of her sleeves, and no new footsteps rang along the hallway floor.

**(tsuzuku)**


	24. the rain and lightning pales

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

Nessiah sat hunched in the hall, legs folded heel to thigh, elbows to his knees, face in his hands. His back pressed hard and uncomfortably to the wall, which had long warmed to his scars; still, he wouldn't get up and leave, or even shift his position.

Gulcasa was a warm presence beside him, their bodies almost brushing. Neither of them spoke. Nessiah could hear Yggdra's faint sobs, stifled in Gulcasa's shoulder; she was sitting huddled into his other side, and had been since Flone and the others had thrown them out of Roswell's room.

It had been so long. An hour maybe, or perhaps a little less, a little more. Nessiah's spell had run out some time ago. He barely cared. He was exhausted physically, emotionally, and magically, and the cuts along his palms and leg stung. But he wouldn't budge until he knew how Roswell was.

The hall was crowded. Kylier was nearby, as were Elena and Nietzsche—Nessiah's ministrae seemed to have become even more closely knit due to their contracts with him—and everyone else in the former Royal Army loitered along the far end of the hall, leaving the six of them to their grim worries.

Everyone else but Rosary. She had to know—the rest of the festivities had been brought to a screeching halt by Roswell's suicide attempt—but she hadn't shown herself.

Nessiah was glad. She didn't belong here.

But he was also furious. If she wasn't here, he couldn't tear her apart for what she was doing to his lover.

_Why_ in the name of the gods did Roswell care for her so much?

Nessiah rocked slowly where he sat, his sob so weak it was barely a moan; Gulcasa's hand settled on his shoulder, stroking absently.

_Roswell. Roswell. Please. Just be alive._

But the minutes stretched out, and the healers' voices were muffled behind the closed door; Nessiah had no idea what was taking place behind it.

_If there really is a hell, this must be what it's like._

"Nessiah."

He raised his head slowly and turned towards Gulcasa. His friend's voice was rough and hoarse—he must have done a lot of shouting to get everything organized in so little time—and there were dark circles under his eyes; he looked nearly as pale and haunted as Nessiah felt.

"Lean a little," Gulcasa said softly. "You look like you'll break if you don't."

He didn't move. Gulcasa reached out and brushed his knuckles over Nessiah's tearstained cheeks, then placed his hand over his head to ruffle his hair and give him a gentle tug.

There was no strength in him to resist. Aching inside and out, Nessiah rested against Gulcasa's side and let himself be held, endured Gulcasa's exhausted attempts to give him some comfort. It didn't quite fit right—being comforted by the one he loved while he waited for news on his lover's condition—but it was comfort, and Nessiah couldn't refuse it.

He slept for short and fitful bursts—half an hour here, another hour or so there. The faces at the end of the hall changed; Nietzsche and Elena and Kylier slept, given blankets and pillows by the healers or the other waiters. Yggdra seemed to be asleep on Gulcasa's other side; Gulcasa himself was either sleeping or musing with his eyes closed.

Every time he shifted and realized that he'd been asleep, he tried to find a position where he wouldn't drop off, but it never really worked. He was too worn out from worrying, and there wasn't anything he could do about his body's need for rest.

The night's passing went like blood being drawn.

* * *

Nessiah woke to the sound of a door opening.

It was a jolt to his system in the hall that had been silent, and he was still confused as to what was going on as he began his sight spells and looked around.

A blanket had been laid over him—and Gulcasa and Yggdra—and his legs were stiff after he'd slept with them folded tightly to the side. Gulcasa's cheek rested to his forehead; it seemed his friend was—finally? still?—asleep.

The healers' murmurs were louder than Nessiah remembered them, and Roswell's door was open. Nessiah's senses sharpened as he realized what that had to mean, and he struggled to sit up. His motion provoked a muted sound of protest from Gulcasa, who shifted and turned, lifting the blanket and letting cold air in as he raised a hand to pass over his face.

Flone was the first of the healers to the doorframe. She looked exhausted; her face was drawn. Nessiah fought himself free of the blanket and staggered to his feet, taking a few steps towards her, knowing his anxiety was plain on his face.

"He's alive," she said softly, and the relief of those words was so strong that Nessiah felt temporarily divorced from his body. His legs folded, and he dropped heavily to the ground in a sprawl, pain shooting through his hands as he supported himself with them.

Flone didn't comment—she just rested against the doorframe. She'd probably seen people react this way before.

"He's alive," she repeated, "but he's very weak. He lost too much blood, so it may be a while before he can function normally. He'll be weak to illness for a little while, and if his heart is strained much further before he recovers…" Flone sighed and rubbed her temples.

With an effort, Nessiah got back to his feet. "…You were trying to heal that again, weren't you?" he asked softly. Flone didn't answer. "I think if I could use healing magic, I would probably do the same, but… we all know the damage from that time is permanent. And Roswell has still been able to live normally, even with a weak heart…"

"Perhaps for now, but when he's older…" Flone grimaced. So did Nessiah, who preferred not to think about how things would be when any of his friends and companions began to age. "At any rate, if he isn't disturbed too much during the next few days, Roswell will recover well enough. Physically, at least. He'll need to be moved somewhere else until his room is cleaned up… and magically cleansed. The negative energy in it is still very strong; it caused us enough trouble when we were working on him."

"My room," Nessiah suggested automatically. "We spend enough time together as it is, and I want to be able to check on him as much as I can." He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight and interlacing his fingers behind his back. "Can I… see him?"

Flone smiled at him, but shook her head. "He's still sleeping, and the room is… more a mess than it was when you saw it, General. I wouldn't recommend going in there now. Someone will let you know once Roswell has been moved to your room, and you can be with him then. It's good that he has someone as devoted to him as you."

"Especially since I doubt we'll be getting any visits from Rosary," Nessiah said dryly. "Yggdra and the others will probably keep him company, as well. I still have no idea how she managed to track him down before Gulcasa brought you all here."

Flone shook her head. "I guess you'll just have to ask once she wakes up." She raised a hand to cover the half-yawn she was plainly trying to stifle.

Nessiah watched her, then made a face. "And here I am keeping you here talking when you're all but asleep on your feet. You have been working all night, after all… why don't I walk you out to find your husband and your bed? You should probably lie down."

This inexplicably made her giggle. "What is it about being pregnant that makes all the men around me think I shouldn't stay standing for very long? Still, thank you. I'd like that—though you should probably change out of those clothes before Roswell and everyone fussing over him take up residence in your room!"

Taken aback, Nessiah looked down at himself. He was still in his dance costume—creased from wear, spattered and crusted with dried blood.

"I… suppose I should do that… as soon as you're with the others, then," he murmured, disoriented, and left it at that.

* * *

Nessiah never was able to remember the rest of that morning clearly—he'd been too tired; after changing back into his robes and seeing Flone to the others, hearing her assure them that Roswell was fine for now, he knew he'd returned to his room, but after that point things got hazy. Sometime around noon, Gulcasa had been standing over him, having shaken him out of the light doze he'd fallen into curled up on the end of his bed.

"Now you have me feeling bad for coming in here," Gulcasa joked lightly as Nessiah sat up and covered a yawn, sitting with his lower body carelessly strewn over the edge of the bed and the floor. "You look like you could use about another half-day's worth of sleep. Yesterday really wore you out, didn't it?"

Nessiah yawned again and looked up at his friend from beneath his tumbled, tangled hair. "…Gulcasa, I have to say, you seem to have gotten a gift for understatement lately."

"And _you_ happen to have developed a crappy habit of ignoring your own needs over the past few centuries," Gulcasa replied tartly, reaching out to finger-comb Nessiah's hair into order. As usual, Nessiah flushed at the casual intimacy of the gesture; as usual, Gulcasa seemed not to notice his reaction. "When exactly are you going to figure out that the life you're living now is the one that matters? Take better care of yourself—it's not just dying that can take you away from us, it's illness and injury too. And it'll be hard for you to look after Roswell if you're sick."

Nessiah held still as Gulcasa straightened his robes—they'd been hanging off his shoulder, their collar scrunched up at the side of his throat. "You really took that incident to heart, didn't you…?" He made an effort at smiling and felt it fall flat.

Gulcasa's motions didn't falter as he shrugged. "You just reminded me that you're not the only one I don't know much about, is all. Knowledge is a kind of responsibility, too."

"…look, I… never really got the chance to apologize for snapping at you then. I got… a bit out of hand; I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry."

Gulcasa shook his head. "I needed to get yelled at. I thought I'd cured myself by then of doing stupid things when I get desperate. I thought I'd already learned by then that if I do something stupid, all that happens is that people get hurt—the wrong ones. I hurt Roswell, I hurt you, and I don't want to do that anymore."

"…Gulcasa…"

"He's important to you, too. And…" Making a face, Gulcasa reached up to rub at the scars on the side of his throat. "I should've known better. I hate thinking that I drove someone to that kind of despair."

Nessiah couldn't think of anything to say.

"At that time, I hurt myself because I didn't know what else to do. I can't go back and sort out which parts of my reasoning were atonement or escapism, self-hatred or depression. I just know that I was in my doing-stupid-things mindset then. I wasn't thinking. I was… honestly, probably pretty close to insane." Gulcasa shrugged. His tone had been offhand, his expression casual and almost self-mocking, but now he sobered. "I saw that room. It looked like the scene of some kind of murder. I can understand the way Roswell's head works to a point, but that… I can't even imagine planning to do something like that to myself."

Nessiah grimaced. "There are as many reasons for self-injury as there are people who do it. Roswell is different from you and I… to you, depression is an emotion, but to him it's a disease. You could think of his bad episodes as 'outbreaks', I suppose. He may never be fully cured, so all we can do is keep suppressing those 'outbreaks' and monitor him carefully when they occur."

"I can't believe the way Rosary goes out of her way to bring those outbreaks on—if I can borrow your metaphor." Gulcasa finished fussing at Nessiah's clothes and sat down next to him. "And purposely, too. It was an incredible kind of shock and pain to know I'd done that to someone _accidentally, _but…"

"I… don't think Rosary has ever really acknowledged Roswell's condition," Nessiah offered at length. "If she did, if she let herself realize that Roswell is truly ill, she couldn't justify her actions toward him any longer. It would help if she decided what she does or doesn't feel for him, too, but… we can't change her."

Gulcasa rested his hand on Nessiah's head and ruffled his hair in a patting motion; Nessiah went bright scarlet and tried to shove him away.

"I guess this is what people mean when they call someone a 'good child'," Gulcasa told him laughingly. "You're awfully devoted to Roswell, for a fallen angel who claims not to give a damn about humanity."

Nessiah scooted down on the bedspread, out of Gulcasa's reach. "About forty or fifty years after I first came to this world, after I'd finally fully recovered my sanity? There were a few decades where all I ever did was kill myself over and over."

Gulcasa's eyes went wide, and then his brow furrowed. "Nessiah…"

"It wasn't until I was sane that I fully realized what had been done to me and what it meant. I thought maybe it was better to be insane than to live with that knowledge, but my mind was too strong for that then. I'd bounced back from the shock, and I was on my feet for better or for worse. So I suppose… I was looking for an out. There had to have been some kind of mistake, there had to be some kind of loophole. I tried to find it." He smiled darkly at the memory. "I killed myself every way you could think of doing it—burning, drowning, the classic wrist-slashing, long falls… and creative ways I hope you'll never have to imagine. And then I'd wake up a year or so later, find myself alive again… and I'd try a different way, until I gave up. I surprised myself with how morbid I became; when I was a child, I used to hate that kind of violence. But I was desperate, and despairing.

_"Eventually_ that desperation and despair resolved into something stronger—hatred. Hating the gods, hating Asgard and all its hypocrisy, gave me the strength to live. And I took an interest in how my sword was doing, and learned how war and politics worked…

"Well, you know how that story ends. The point is, I know how it is to struggle through depression alone, and I can't bear to watch someone else being crushed under that burden. If there's a way I can save Roswell from that weight…"

Nessiah shook his head and sighed. Gulcasa, who had been listening with a solemn expression, reached out and drew Nessiah close to him, holding him as carefully as if he were made from the thinnest of spun glass.

"That's a terrible story."

"It's a true story. Most of the true ones are terrible, Gulcasa. Like the story you told your people, about what Brongaa would have done to this land."

"Even the sad stories usually have lessons to them, Nessa. Your story… is terrible because you suffered so much for no good reason."

Nessiah shifted against Gulcasa's warm chest, looking up at his friend—or trying to; that was hard, the way Gulcasa held him. "How do you know it's no good reason? All you have is my word that what happened to me is unjust, and I've done enough to harm this world since I joined it that I could be hiding some terrible crime."

"Because," Gulcasa said softly, "I know how you are even now. And as jaded as you are these days, how must it have been when you were no older than you look? Honestly, Nessa. Even as world-weary as you act now… you're just such a wonderfully kind person. Your hatred, your sorrow, your suffering… those are to blame for the things you've done, not you yourself. I'm sure Kylier and Roswell would agree with me, and they should know."

Nessiah blushed and hid his face in Gulcasa's chest. "…they're biased, and so are you."

He felt his face get even hotter as Gulcasa laughed and rubbed his scarred back. "You really make me wonder how the world must look to you. Anyhow… let's get you something to eat and then a quiet place to rest. Kylier's going to be pretty pissed if you wear yourself out trying to look after Roswell, you know."

* * *

Roswell awoke in the evening.

Nessiah had been sitting on his side of the bed, writing in the Revelation, trying to sort out his thoughts and emotions and essentially getting nowhere—other than establishing how confused he felt by all this.

"…ugh…"

The first thing he felt at hearing Roswell's weak moan was a surge of irritation that was completely irrational. What did he have to be angry at Roswell about? Roswell's life belonged to him; only Roswell could decide what he wanted to do with it and if he was finished with it. So was Nessiah jealous of that ability? Or was he just angry that Roswell would have left him behind, taken from him so many things he'd grown to care for and enjoy?

Whatever the case, Nessiah knew he couldn't afford to take that anger out on Roswell now. He'd only hurt his lover needlessly, and while Roswell's mental state was delicate, too.

So he didn't look over to Roswell right away, but set aside his pen and blew on the fresh words he'd just written until they dried. He closed the Revelation, worked its leather straps shut, and sealed it, then set it aside; only when this was done did he turn. Roswell's eyes were half-open, and he was looking up at the ceiling with a faintly confused expression.

"Welcome back," Nessiah said softly. Roswell started, then turned towards him.

"…ah…"

"Shortly after you ran off, your emotional pain ripped through my empathic defense. It was obvious that you would at least try to hurt yourself. I found you and kept you from bleeding out while Gulcasa tracked the healers down. Yggdra came in before he did. I still don't know exactly how she sensed the distress you were in, but she saw the mess you made of your room. Luckily, it wasn't long afterwards that Gulcasa arrived with Flone and the brigade of Imperial doctors.

"That was last night; you've been asleep since. It's… about dinnertime, I believe. Yggdra was here up until about an hour ago; Milanor and Kylier finally managed to get her out of the room then. I decided to stay. I needed the quiet, and I'm not hungry. Also, there's a chance I might run into Rosary down there. I know you wouldn't like it if I tore her body and soul apart, which I've been strongly considering.

"Besides, I wanted to look after you. That's what was most important, as far as I'm concerned."

Roswell watched him for a moment, his brow creasing, his sky-colored eyes deeply vulnerable. "…you're angry," he murmured, regretful.

Nessiah shook his head and sighed. "Not at you, not really. And I'll wait to lecture you until your emotions aren't quite so raw. You're alive; that's enough."

There was a brief silence in which Nessiah could feel Roswell's stare on him even after he'd looked away.

Then there was a gentle touch at Nessiah's hand, and Roswell murmured, "I'm sorry for hurting you, love."

Nessiah's chest clenched, and he turned back towards his lover, reaching out to carefully cup Roswell's cheek while he leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"It's more that you scared me," Nessiah told him softly, then hesitated, drawing back and resting the back of his hand against Roswell's forehead. "…are you feeling alright?"

Roswell frowned a little, shifting under Nessiah's touch. "Yes… why?"

"You feel a touch feverish to me." Nessiah sat up but kept his hand on Roswell's forehead, feeling his own to be sure. "You should probably be careful and not exert yourself. Even if it's just me imagining things… Flone said your body's defenses will be weaker than normal for a little while, so it's best not to take chances."

"Don't worry so much," Roswell told him, smiling. "If I'm fated to fail in trying to take my own life, I don't think I'm in any real danger from a little fever."

Nessiah just watched him doubtfully, unwilling to give voice to his worries.

* * *

"He 'seemed' feverish?" Kylier repeated, leaning back in her chair.

"I thought so, yes," Nessiah admitted, irritated and embarrassed by her patient tone but still worried. "His face was flushed and his forehead felt hot. And you know what Flone said as well as I do, right? If he gets sick now…"

"Psh, he _would, _wouldn't he?" Kylier uncrossed her legs and crossed them again the other way. "Just to be more of a pain."

"He's not a pain, and don't brush me off." Nessiah hunched his shoulders and looked away from her, unsettled and now starting to get annoyed.

"Well, it's not like he _tries_ to be a pain," she amended, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a light shake, but he didn't turn back towards her. "Really, if you're that worried, shouldn't you just go back and check up on him? This isn't like you, to get so worked up. Roswell's out of the woods, isn't he?"

Nessiah didn't answer, and he couldn't shake the feeling of something being terribly _off._

"What's got you so worried anyways? Just the fear of needlessly poetic irony?" Kylier gave him another little shake.

Nessiah still didn't answer. How could he explain it, anyway, so that it would make sense? It came in little pictures, fragments of moments that when added up made him nervous. The night he'd woken up and Roswell had been coughing for no reason Nessiah could understand. A morning when Roswell's smile had been a little tired, when his lover was a bit more in a fog than usual. A training session where Roswell had had a bit more trouble getting his magic to cooperate than he normally did. Times when Roswell's storied endurance didn't quite hold up.

The fact that these little pieces of a disturbing bigger picture had been piling up for a long time now—since things had begun to get hectic with the angels, perhaps, or a little afterwards.

"…I just _am_ worried," he said at length, folding his arms tightly.

"Damn, Ness, just go check up on him then," Kylier told him again. "At this rate you're just gonna keep worrying and worrying until you see for yourself that he's getting better. I'll go with you, okay? So, c'mon—let's head back up to your room and see."

He stood still, hesitating a moment longer; Kylier gave his shoulder a little tug.

"If there really is something wrong, we better go figure out what it is," she said quietly. "And if there isn't, then you can just be relieved that it was a false alarm, right?"

Nessiah looked away from her. "…I suppose."

"Then come on," she murmured, and this time when she tugged, he followed her.

Which was it?—he had to wonder as he followed her. Had he been noticing vital things and putting them together, the way he and any strategist should be able—or blowing these things out of proportion completely, because he had so many reasons to worry about Roswell already? He wasn't sure how he could really tell.

His emotions were clouding his judgment.

_This,_ he had to think to himself, _is precisely why I should've left Gulcasa at my first chance before I had the opportunity to get embroiled in this mess—_

And then they were there.

Kylier knocked, then flung the door wide. "Roswell?" She leaned into the room, then drew up short. "What the…? Where is he?"

Nessiah pushed past her and stared into the room. The sheets were flung back; the bed was empty. His mind wheeled—he didn't think there was anything overly sharp nearby, but—

A faint sound from the privy drew Nessiah's attention, and he crossed the room with Kylier right behind him. And Roswell was there, hunched over the sink, ashen and retching, his eyes red and bleary, the air of sickness rolling off him in waves.

* * *

"What does he have?"

The question—the obvious question, the _only_ question that mattered—hung in the air like some kind of threat for over a minute before Flone took a deep breath and sighed.

"I don't know."

Nessiah rose to his feet. "What do you _mean, _you don't know? Surely, a healer with your training—"

Flone held up a hand and cut him off. "It presents like diseases I'm familiar with, but those can be checked by any number of easy spells. None of which worked. I don't know what this could possibly be."

After a few tense moments, Nessiah hesitantly reclaimed his seat.

Roswell was still in Nessiah's room, lying asleep with a steadily rising fever. Flone had given him a potion to help him sleep, but his breathing still seemed labored; the dry coughing that had been bothering Nessiah for so long made the fluttering of his chest rapid and the sound of it a disturbing rasp.

They'd found one of the living rooms to talk in, so that they wouldn't crowd the room—so that they wouldn't wind up distressing Roswell discussing his fragile health. And, thanks to the timing, the very real possibility that he might not recover. That his wish for death would be granted, just a little later than he'd thought.

When he'd started to regain interest in life again, of course.

"It seems something like pneumonia at first glance… but with enough differences that I can't treat Roswell's illness as though it's the same thing." Flone leaned back against a bookcase and closed her eyes; Russell, standing beside her, slipped an arm around her waist and gave Nessiah a reproachful glare. Nessiah glowered back; Flone seemed not to notice. "For instance, if Roswell _did_ have pneumonia, he should be coughing up some form of phlegm—which he isn't. And the season is unusual for that kind of disease, anyhow. I don't want to risk making this any worse, especially considering that Roswell's health is already delicate…"

"But he may die anyways, at this rate," Yggdra said softly. She was sitting on the same plush couch as Emilia and the twins, hugging herself. Her expression was very subdued.

"Yes."

Nessiah shook his head. "This is ridiculous. After everything he's been through, after all the effort it took to keep him alive until now—for him to die because of some disease, because his body was just weak…"

There was a long silence.

"What's _ridiculous,"_ a low voice—Rosary's—remarked snidely from the doorway, "is that you're all panicking over this anyway. And after the weepy idiot tried to off himself, at that. He's just getting what he wants."

Nessiah made as if to stand again, not knowing quite what he intended to do when he was on his feet, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He flicked its owner—Kylier—an irritated glance, and then joined the other occupants of the room in glaring at Rosary.

Kylier clamped his shoulder a little harder, and then shook it. "Ness, you said you were worried that Roswell might be getting sick for more reasons than his fever. Was it really just a bad feeling, or did you see something?"

He turned back towards her, blank-faced; she made an impatient face and shook him again.

"C'mon—I know you; you keep tabs on things better than just about anybody. If any of us had a chance of seeing something, it's you."

Nessiah shook his head mutely. "I… there were times when he seemed to be getting ill. Every now and then, at least. Coughing… and not having as much control over his magic. Or his body." He might, he realized, have to take Flone aside and explain what he really meant about that; she was a _cleric, _and could be trusted to not tell anyone that he and Roswell were lovers.

Flone stopped massaging her temples and fixed him with an intense stare. "How long has this been going on, Nessiah?"

He bit his lip and shook his head minutely, reaching up to shove his fingers through his hair. "…I'm not certain. But at least since—" And, realizing it, he froze, his shoulders tensing. "…oh."

"Nessiah?" Everyone in the room was looking at him now.

"Roswell… has seemed a bit off since shortly after the incident where Marietta took Yggdra and the others prisoner," he said slowly. "Which points to the probability that whatever illness he has… is angelic in origin."

Silence.

"If this is the case, it could have been a protracted but mild illness which he was fighting off naturally… until now, until his body was too weakened by injury and blood loss to keep him from this state," Flone mused, fingering a wave of her hair. "It does make sense. Nessiah?"

"It would also explain why no one else is ill. Myself, especially… considering that we spend so much time together." Nessiah shook his head. "If I had the sickness or a variant of it myself, when I was a child… and if anyone else also contracted the illness, chances are they've fought it off already. Roswell's heart… because of it, he'll probably be susceptible to things like these where no one else would be."

"That's not what I meant," Flone went on. "Would you have any idea what it is Roswell has, based on that hypothesis? You would know much more about these things than we do."

"…" Nessiah fell silent, his chest constricting. Kylier's hand squeezed on his shoulder; he felt her take a breath to answer for him, probably sensing that he couldn't. But it was Gulcasa who spoke.

"He doesn't know much about medicine, remember? It'd be a miracle if he knew what Roswell's got—don't put it on him to figure it out." Standing up, Gulcasa crossed the room to where Nessiah sat, looking down at him. "You don't, right?"

Mutely, Nessiah shook his head.

Gulcasa nodded to him and turned back to Flone. "Don't pressure him, alright?"

"Oh, cry me a goddamn river," Rosary interjected sourly from where she stood at the door—making everyone turn back towards her for the second time.

_"Rosary,"_ Flone said sharply, her voice carrying a reprimand.

"Whatever that idiot does or doesn't have, it all comes back to the same thing. Either he'll get better and things will be the way they always have, or he won't, and he'll have what he wanted all along." The witch puffed her cheek out and shrugged angrily, unfolding her arms to plant her hands on her hips. "And whichever way it goes, you can count _me_ out of his melodrama. I'm sick of it." So saying, she pushed off the wall and ducked into the hallway, disappearing from view.

Nessiah was out the door after her before he'd even fully registered the _rage_ her words had kindled in his chest. He must have run to be able to match and outpace her stilted steps; it jolted his shoulder when he reached out and gripped her arm to hold her back, but he didn't care.

Rosary halted and turned towards him, trying to shake her arm free. "Let go."

"Don't you _dare_ run away from this," Nessiah seethed. "Get back in that room. _Now._ And don't you mock these events, especially not after _your part in them."_

Her eyes widened, and she whirled to face him, planting her feet and wrenching her arm out of his grip. "Why the hell are you talking like it's _my_ fault Roswell doesn't have it in him to handle living? His lack of balls is his own damn problem, not mine. If he wants to die so bad—"

_"Roswell's __**only sin**__ is his misaimed feelings for you,"_ Nessiah shouted, cutting Rosary off, drowning her out. The words felt hot, like they should have burned his throat. _"And the only reason he's fallen into this condition is because you can't decide what __**you**__ do or don't feel, and have to take that uncertainty out on the only one who cares about you."_

Rosary's face went pale—then she flushed as she balled her hands into fists. "What the _hell_ are you on about—I don't—"

_**"You don't—exactly right. You don't give a damn about him, you never have, and now you're intent on seeing him burn in hell for the sake of your own vanity!"**_

"Says the little bastard that caused the whole mess in the first place _just by coming to this world!"_ Rosary threw back at him, her voice growing shrill. "Just keep your damn nose out of places it doesn't belong, you—"

Nessiah swung hard, lashing out with all the strength his rage gave him. His palm cracked the side of Rosary's face hard, and before either he or she could realize quite what he'd done, more hot and ugly words were ripping their way out of his throat.

_**"You told him to die!"**_he snarled, his voice straining from the volume. _**"Knowing full well how much he loves you, how much it hurts him that you cannot rise above your pettiness to let him down kindly or even let him down at all, you ordered him to disappear! No matter what the rest of us try to do, you remain the reason for his existence, and if you remove that reason you remove his hope and his light, and he can do nothing more than move to grant your selfish requests! His body is in this condition because YOU WISHED HIM DEAD, and the gods help you if he dies—I will never forgive you for it. If I lose Roswell because of this—may his death rest on your shoulders for all eternity!"**_

Rosary didn't answer. She stared, her cheek pink from Nessiah's slap, her eyes huge and her expression stricken. Nessiah didn't wait for her to recover—he turned on his heel and strode quickly through the hall, as quickly as he could manage without breaking into a full run. He traced the halls blindly until he arrived before his own door; opening it, he walked with numb steps to Roswell's bedside and sank into a chair.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, staring blankly at Roswell's fevered, shaking body, before he heard the door softly close. He turned—Gulcasa was standing there; the young emperor's expression was sober.

"Nessa," Gulcasa murmured, and took a step forward, holding his arms out.

Gratitude—love—_something _warm and painful and rushing flooded Nessiah's chest, jagged with his terror for Roswell and shock at what he'd allowed himself to say; he stood and took a few staggering steps forward. And fell into a crouch as his legs folded, hugging himself, keening. Gulcasa knelt in a shift of fabric and a sweep of scarlet hair, and he gathered Nessiah to his warm chest, rocking him patiently.

* * *

"Feel any better?" Gulcasa asked—it must have been at least an hour after Nessiah had been able to get his sobbing under control.

Pushing gently against his friend's chest to sit up, Nessiah took a deep breath and nodded mutely. Then he grimaced a little and rubbed at his throat. "…except for this… I suppose so."

Gulcasa cracked a smile and shook his head. "I'm not surprised—they probably heard you all the way down in Norn Valley. Cripes, Nessa, no wonder you never really yell. Come on." And with that he stood up, offering a hand.

Nessiah took it and let Gulcasa pull him up. He felt impossibly hollow, impossibly lost. Losing his temper had tired him out; he wasn't sure what he should do now. So he just followed along blankly as Gulcasa put an arm around his shoulders and led him into the hall, then down it.

Along the way to—wherever Gulcasa was taking him, they crossed paths with one of the maidservants; Gulcasa reached out to stop her and squeezed Nessiah's shoulders.

"Would you mind sending notice down to the kitchens to have some tea brought up to my room for this one?" he asked quietly. The maid smiled and curtsied, sweeping along in the opposite direction. Gulcasa led Nessiah onwards, and through the door to his own room.

Wordlessly, Gulcasa indicated the bed; Nessiah walked over to it and sat. Gulcasa sat next to him, and replaced the arm around his shoulders. They sat there for several minutes on end; Nessiah couldn't think of anything to say or even a way to thank Gulcasa for inexplicably being here to support him. Eventually a different servant arrived at the door with a tea tray; Gulcasa rose, took it, thanked the man, and headed back to the bed, setting the tray down in the middle of the spread.

"Drink something, or you're going to get hoarse," he said. Nessiah hesitated for a moment, then picked up a teacup. The liquid wasn't steaming visibly, but the cup felt hot; he sipped it slowly and carefully.

It tasted vaguely of blueberries; Nessiah set the cup down when he was done with it and looked back towards Gulcasa.

"If you're a little calmer now…" Gulcasa took a deep breath and met Nessiah's stare. "I have an idea… something that might help Roswell."

Nessiah shook his head mutely. "But… we've already been over… there's not really anything we can…"

"Not with what we have here, no." Gulcasa leaned back against the bedpost and folded his arms. "Nessiah—your friend Celina's access card. Do you still have it?"

"Yes, but—" Nessiah cut himself off, realization starting to dawn on him. "You. You can't possibly be suggesting—"

"I am indeed suggesting," Gulcasa interrupted, "that if we don't have the right medicine to treat Roswell and Asgard does, then we should go there if we can and take it ourselves. Your Celina would probably help us find the right kind; she's saved Roswell before. If only a few of us went—you and I, with Kylier or Elena—we wouldn't attract much attention, and would be able to fight off any trouble quickly." He hesitated, frowned. "This _is_ plausible, right? Could you use some kind of magic to get us into and out of Asgard with no one the wiser?"

"Not by myself, but—with Pamela, I believe it's possible," Nessiah said slowly, trying to work it out in his head. "It—could be done, I suppose. It would be dangerous, but it could be done, and better with Celina's help than without it."

"Good—that's good." Gulcasa nodded, then smiled. "We should tell the others—the sooner we do this, the better. Isn't that right?"

* * *

Gulcasa did most of the explaining, with Nessiah standing exhausted and attached to his side. The others' opinions of the plan were as varied as the expressions they wore when he was done.

"Well, _I'm _all for it," Kylier said right away. "Anything's better than just sitting here waiting for something to happen. Gulcasa's got the right idea—if we want Roswell to get better, we've gotta make it happen ourselves."

"Sounds like fun to Nietzsche!"

"It sounds _dangerous,"_ Elena murmured; her eyes were dark with worry.

"And I agree," Flone added. "It's terribly risky for any of you to head into a place like Asgard for any reason, let alone to steal something… but it's the only idea we have, and unless someone comes up with a better one…"

Yggdra didn't say anything. She didn't seem to know what to make of the whole situation.

"Doing this right now would be a terrible idea, too—everyone is worn out, and needs rest. Just _look_ at General Nessiah, Your Majesty," Flone went on in a scolding tone. "He can barely stand on his own, and if not for his magic I'd doubt he could so much as see straight. This has to at least wait until he's capable."

"I wasn't going to suggest this any sooner than tomorrow," Gulcasa hedged defensively. "There's a lot of details everyone has to hammer out anyhow, like who's coming and who's staying. And we can all tell that this one needs some sleep."

"Tomorrow, then," Nessiah said softly. "No later. I don't want to mangle this by insisting we go now, but it can't wait."

"Then tomorrow it will be," Yggdra put in, standing up. "Gulcasa… will you please make sure Nessiah gets some rest? I'll settle things here… you should take care of him right now."

Nessiah glanced up to see that Gulcasa was regarding Yggdra with raised eyebrows; he gave her a small, appreciative smile and settled his hand back on Nessiah's shoulder, tugging gently.

"You heard the lady. Let's go."

He waited until they were up the stairs to tug lightly on Gulcasa's shirt, glancing behind them. "…Are you really sure…?"

"Yggdra's at least as worried about Roswell as you are," Gulcasa told him. "And don't forget—she fought a rebellion _and_ a conquest babysitting him before. She's got a level head on her shoulders; she can handle the organizing on her own."

"…I suppose it _is_ foolish to worry, but…"

"You don't have much choice but to worry, do you?" Gulcasa shrugged. "I've noticed this about you—when things don't go according to plan, or at least within your planned range of deviations, you get anxious… especially when doing crazy-reckless stuff is out of the question. You're very used to having a hand in everything, so when you can't affect events around you, it kind of freaks you out."

Nessiah remained silent.

"Until tomorrow, there's nothing any of us can do. None of us like it, even if it does hit you and Yggdra the hardest. I'll stay with you, and make sure you don't do anything stupid, like heading off to Asgard on your own in the middle of the night."

"Like I'd do anything as ridiculous as that," Nessiah protested, inwardly cursing.

"I hope not," Gulcasa said mildly. "At any rate, I trust Yggdra to be able to deal with this, and you need someone. I don't mind being 'someone' right now."

They kept walking in silence until Nessiah made to turn down the hall to his own room; Gulcasa's hand on his shoulder tightened, steering him in the opposite direction.

"No, you're staying where I can keep an eye on you tonight."

"Your trust in me is overwhelming," Nessiah said dryly.

"It's less a factor of my trust in you than how much it'll stress you to sit there watching Roswell being all sick and feverish. Enough stress, and you'll be running off doing something idiotic, resolve or no. I mean, he _is_ one of your best friends. You couldn't help it if you wanted to. That aside, you'd be up stressing instead of sleeping, when sleep is the entire point of this, you know."

There wasn't anything Nessiah could say to that, so he didn't say anything as Gulcasa led the way down to his own room.

"Here again," Gulcasa murmured as Nessiah stood facing the wall and undid his faceplate to take his overrobe off. "You sure do seem to wind up here quite a bit, don't you?"

Nessiah felt blood rise to his cheeks, and turned briefly to scowl in Gulcasa's direction. "…That's because you keep dragging me in here, half the time."

"And the other half?"

"…is what seems to happen when I can't use my own room for some reason."

"Or when you want to piss me off."

"Pissing you off has nothing to do with it! Maybe I did that once or twice, but—" Nessiah cut himself off, reminding himself of the inanity of this argument; Gulcasa started laughing. "…dare I even ask what's so amusing…?"

"Just you, Nessa. _God, _this is a welcome change."

Nessiah waited until he'd finished refastening his faceplate before he gave in and turned around, folding his arms.

"You argue over dumb stuff, you run around worrying about people, you're not afraid of demonstrating you've got some punch to you—it's like you're a completely different person than you were just last year," Gulcasa explained as he sat down on his side of the bed, smiling. "You used to barely interact with anyone other than me and your fellow generals. Used to drive everyone insane the way you spent all your time hiding in the corner like some shy-ass ghost, unless you and I had something to bicker about. You'd do shit and never tell anyone why, you'd let me in but only so far…

"It's because you never really let yourself care until now, isn't it? Maybe you did even though you didn't want to, but you couldn't be yourself around us until you accepted your own feelings and decided to open your heart…"

"Gulcasa, you…" Nessiah put a hand to his face and grimaced, sure he was blushing.

"Well, if I'm way off, just let me live on under my delusions, okay? Come on, get to bed."

Sighing, Nessiah slipped his sandals off and rested gingerly on the edge of the bed, lying against the pillow. The light dimmed when Gulcasa turned the lamp down, and Nessiah started briefly when his friend's arm settled over his waist.

"Goodnight, Nessa," Gulcasa murmured as his chest pressed to Nessiah's back.

He didn't say anything at first, or even dim his own sight spells; Nessiah just lay on his side and listened to Gulcasa's breathing behind him.

"…Gulcasa."

"Hm?"

"…I don't know whether or not you were right. All I know is that I don't understand myself very well sometimes. …I'm here on the inside looking out, after all… I can't watch myself change."

"That's true enough."

There was also, Nessiah thought privately, the fact that so much of what he wanted was lying here beside him, right within his grasp, but so far beyond his reach that he might well be standing in Asgard with Gulcasa at the very pits of Niflheim.

As for the rest of what he wanted… Nessiah didn't even know if he really understood what that was anymore.

"Gulcasa?"

"Hm?"

"Do you really think this is going to work? Your… plan for saving Roswell."

"I have no idea, but Kylier said it best—it's better than sitting around doing nothing. Roswell is important to all of us. He's one of us. One of ours. Like family. You'd do anything for family, wouldn't you?"

"I wouldn't know," Nessiah said softly. "I've never had one."

Gulcasa was silent for a while.

"Well, you do now," he murmured; Nessiah shivered as Gulcasa's lips brushed his shoulder. "You do now, and we'd go through hell for you, too. We hope you'd do the same for us."

_You have no idea, _Nessiah thought, but said nothing.

They stayed that way for another several minutes; Nessiah wasn't sure.

"…Nessa, are you still awake?"

"Yes."

"Are you even sleepy at all?"

"…not really."

Gulcasa sighed.

"Then will you at least turn around, so I can hold you properly?"

Nessiah hesitated, but shifted awkwardly so that he was lying on his back, then on his other side. Despite how carefully he moved, his chains still clanked dully. The sound made his skin crawl; he hated it with a bitter, despairing passion.

Gulcasa didn't seem to register it, though; he gathered Nessiah to his chest gently, wrapping both arms around him loosely.

"…you know your arm is going to go to sleep if you leave it like that."

"You barely weigh anything, Nessiah; it doesn't bother me. Stop fussing and hush—rest your voice or you're going to lose it," Gulcasa scolded in a low tone.

Nessiah considered retorting, but didn't.

"…Nessa."

"…what is it?"

"It's going to be okay."

Those five words wrenched Nessiah's heart, jagged and painful beyond belief. He rested his face to Gulcasa's broad warm chest and shuddered, shuddered, trying hard not to cry. Gulcasa gathered him up and murmured to him softly, gently; Nessiah let a few stray tears fall, but fought not to break down. He let himself be soothed, let Gulcasa's warmth and kindness overpower his heartsick terror.

He was asleep a few minutes later.

* * *

It was still midmorning when they gathered in the center of town; while a few curious civilians were watching, there weren't very many other people around. Even most members of the former Royal Army were away taking care of their own business, or helping to look after Roswell.

Yggdra was with Roswell instead of watching, too. She'd split their circle down the middle when she'd taken direction—she was to remain, with Nietzsche and Elena as her support, in case something drastic and unforeseen were to happen in Nessiah's absence; Kylier would go with him instead. Gulcasa, having proposed the idea in the first place, was a given.

Gulcasa's sisters were here, though—Luciana with her arms folded and suspicious worry in her eyes, Aegina covering a yawn, Emilia nibbling on a scone or something similar she'd swiped from the kitchen on their way out. Pamela was there with them, too, of course; when Nessiah had asked, she'd told him cheerfully that she'd help him however he needed.

"It's kinda in the contract, y'know?" she'd added when he'd come to get her, which had made him smile as everyone else had tilted their heads in confusion.

"Will we be able to get back without Pamela?" Gulcasa asked, fingering his pactio card as Nessiah sketched in the air, murmuring to himself as he worked out the glyph in his mind.

"What—oh. Yes, it's fine. Even if I can't gate us back, Celina should be more than willing to help." Nessiah brushed his hair out of his face and walked a quick circle over the main road, tracing in the air with the open Revelation cradled in the shelf of his arm; his quick sketches formed a series of bright gold lines in the dust as the pages of his spellbook glowed, turning lazily of their own accord.

He'd barely finished, and was stepping with Pamela onto the glyph to activate it, when hurried steps from the mansion's direction drew his attention. He looked up. It was Rosary.

She looked disheveled, disgruntled, defensive. But she was carrying a broom laden with enchanted charms, had her hat jammed on, and was glaring at Nessiah like she was daring him to mention the faint mark on her cheek.

"I'm coming with you," she said defiantly.

Kylier didn't say anything. Neither did Gulcasa. So Nessiah just stood there for a moment watching Rosary puff for air before he shrugged.

"Whatever you like, so long as you don't slow us down."

Rosary's eyes narrowed, but she didn't make any retort.

Turning back to Pamela, Nessiah lifted his hands; she smiled and placed her palms to his, interlacing their fingers. The Revelation remained at his side, its pages turning more and more quickly as he began to speak in rapid patterns of spell commands, words in the Sacred Tongue he'd almost forgotten, he hadn't used them for so long. Pamela overlapped his words with hers, her magic filling in all the gaps his left; Nessiah couldn't help but smile as he thought idly that her people must have worked diligently to preserve their knowledge of these spells. It was a strange kind of pride in them—similar to his pride in Yggdra and her family's accomplishments—but with a great deal more nostalgia and fondness.

Pamela would have some interesting tales to take home, if she ever decided to go back.

Gulcasa and the others were watching curiously. Nessiah sensed it but didn't turn towards them; he couldn't spare that much attention, although he did wonder what they made of all this. As far as he knew, Pamela had kept mum about what she knew of him; it was more her story to tell than his.

When the spell was complete, Pamela backed off of the glyph, smiling brightly.

"Alright then, everyone… stand close, and we'll be there in a moment," Nessiah said aloud.

"You're not going to…?" Rosary asked, then fell silent when everyone looked at her.

"Use Restoratus, you mean?" Nessiah continued lightly. "No. Believe it or not, I would stick out just as much in my original form as I do now—perhaps more so. Angels whose wings are colors other than white, like Marietta, draw enough attention to themselves; angels whose wings don't match are considered freaks, deformed. Like a human born with six fingers on one hand, or missing a limb." He shook his head, gathered the Revelation into his arms. "No, we don't need to draw that kind of harassment—and mind you, there would be harassment. If any of you think you've dealt with small minds here in your world, a few days in Asgard would be… quite an eye-opener, I believe."

"The differences between people are what make this world such a rich place… even if diversity sometimes causes trouble on a grand scale," Aegina murmured.

"It's true—and if humans weren't so terribly short-lived, I would want to stay here for the rest of my own life because of it… if I could ever be freed, the way things are." Nessiah's smile twisted; he abandoned it. "Regardless, this isn't the time for quibbling over such matters. Onto the circle, now."

Gulcasa and Kylier stood close to him; Rosary chose a spot as close to the edge of the glyph as was safe. Nessiah opened the Revelation and settled his hands along the pages.

"Bye-bye now," Pamela called. "You guys have fun!"

Kylier and Rosary rolled their eyes and shook their heads; Gulcasa raised an eyebrow.

"Come back safe," Emilia added around a mouthful of scone.

"Or else," one of the twins grumbled—Luciana, probably, from her tone.

Nessiah murmured the final line of the incantation, and they were enveloped in bright white light.

* * *

He staggered as they arrived, light dancing across his field of vision so brightly it hurt his head. The first thing he actually saw was Gulcasa's chest, as it was Gulcasa who reached out and held him to keep him from falling.

When he pushed himself upright with a glance at Gulcasa to let his friend know that he would be fine on his own feet, he spared himself a brief look around.

Asgard was much as he remembered it—the impossibly green grass and blue sky, the cobbled pathways, the white marble pantheon-style buildings. They had arrived close to one of the central compounds where the Magi and their outfit were supposed to be housed; at least that was what Nessiah remembered this place being.

"Follow me closely, and as quietly as you can," he told the others in a hushed voice. "We don't want to draw attention here by being noticed; if we set off their alarms we'll never make it through unscathed." So saying, he padded softly through the marble pillars set before the entrance and slipped through the heavy oaken doors—thankfully, they were already open.

A glance behind him told him that Kylier was close on his heels, with Gulcasa behind her and Rosary at the rear of the line. They were in a corridor that took a sharp turn to the right, along the line of the building's outer wall; Nessiah headed for that turn, picking up his pace a bit. They might have a bit of exploration to do before he found Celina, and time was of the essence here.

As he approached the corner, though, a woman in Servant's garb nearly walked into him from around it. Nessiah gasped and jumped back, arming the Revelation; she whipped her weapon from its holster and held it at her chest; sparks began to leap between the heavy gold prongs of the blade-like fixture. He heard Gulcasa call his Artifact behind him, and magic roar up around Kylier; there was an unfamiliar jangle that he marked as Rosary's broom.

They stayed that way, tense and glaring, for a few moments longer. The Servant just studied them silently from where she stood, her expression shadowed by the brim of her cap. The piping of her overcoat was red, and a silver badge was pinned to its collar, marking her as quite high-ranking; her hair was longer than Nessiah had ever seen for a Servant. Like most others of her station, she had no wings.

Nessiah gritted his teeth and drew back to begin an incantation—or he _would _have, had not the very woman he was here to seek walked around the corner at that moment.

"Alright, what's all the damn—" Celina cut herself off and nearly dropped the papers she was carrying when she took in the scene. "Ness? What the hell are you doing here at a time like _this?"_

He relaxed; from the sound of things behind him, so did his companions. "Celina—I've no time to explain properly; we need your help—"

As the Servant holstered her weapon, Celina held up a hand to cut him off. "Save it. You lot follow me—it's not safe to just stand here talking, anyone could come by and then there'd be a real mess. This is a _very_ bad place for you to be right now." So saying, she turned and made beckoning motions; the Servant turned on her heel to walk at Celina's shoulder, and Nessiah nearly tripped over his own feet hurrying after her.

She led them to a room that seemed like a cluttered miniature library—complete with tables and plush chairs—and held the door open for them, then closed it behind them. While they found places to arrange themselves where books and papers weren't scattered on the floor, Celina picked herself one of the chairs and flopped down onto it, sighing heavily and massaging her temples.

She was wearing work clothes under her billowing scarlet robes, Nessiah realized, and she looked very harassed.

"Are you… alright?" he asked slowly. "You… don't look well."

"Politics… are getting rather hairy right now," she told him dryly, and gave him a long, frowning stare. "You look like shit."

Nessiah grimaced. "…All these years as one of the Magi, and you still refuse to mince words."

"Nobody's laughing," Celina retorted. "What's got you all in such an all-fired hurry to infiltrate a building that civilians could get killed for poking around?"

Nessiah glanced around and looked at his friends for support. Kylier shrugged and leaned against a wall, then actually began for him.

"M'lady, you remember Roswell, right?" When Celina frowned, Kylier shook her head. "Necromancer, brunet, blue eyes? That Marietta chick hit him with a nasty spell at Heaven's Gate, and you healed him then…"

"Oh. Your pretty sorcerer friend with the damaged heart." Celina made a face and flipped a hand at them. "What about him?"

Nessiah decided to take it from here. "He's been…" considering what to say, he winced "…unwell. A while ago, he contracted some angelic disease, and in his current state he hasn't been able to fend it off. We're worried that we could lose him, so we came here for medicine."

Celina made a face and groaned. "This just gets better and better. Of all the stupid, idiotic, _completely suicidal—_and is it just me, or do I sense some judicious editing in the 'unwell' part of that explanation?"

"It's a long story, and will probably bore someone as far above the human station as you," Gulcasa provided. "He won't survive this without treatment, though."

"I don't know as it would bore me, but considering that we need to get you out of here as quickly as possible…" Celina shrugged and turned back to Nessiah, crossing her legs and propping her elbow on the arm of her chair, resting her chin on her knuckles. "What're his symptoms?"

Nessiah described them, and then went into as much detail as he knew how when she asked him questions. Eventually, she settled back in her chair with another sigh.

"Sounds like one of the main strains of pneumonia here to me." She stood and rested a hand on the Servant's shoulder. "Could you sneak down to the pharmacy with Ness here and get him… oh, a month's worth of meds for pneumonia strain 18?"

The Servant bowed deeply and headed for the door, extending her hand in Nessiah's direction. "I'll take you there, sir."

When Nessiah hesitated, Celina waved both hands at him in a shooing motion. "Go on, get—you couldn't accuse this one of being untrustworthy; she's mine, and hopefully you haven't forgotten how loyal these people are."

Uncertainly, Nessiah made his way to the door and followed Celina's Servant through it; she closed the door behind him and led him down the hall.

* * *

Once they were gone, Celina had barely rested back against her chair and started rubbing her temples again when Rosary crossed her arms and frowned.

"Okay, that was probably one of the most tactful and unobtrusive jobs _I've_ ever seen of getting somebody out of a room. That Nessiah didn't even notice what you were doing. What exactly are you after?"

Celina opened scarlet eyes and stared levelly at Rosary until she unfolded her arms and shrank back involuntarily, then glanced to Kylier and then Gulcasa. "I need to impress on you all why you absolutely mustn't come back here unless it's life or death; it's serious, but it'd scare Ness, and I don't want to do that. He looks like he's got enough to deal with right now."

"You could say that," Gulcasa allowed. While he wasn't sure what good hiding this from Nessiah would do, he definitely agreed that his friend could use less anxiety. "So what exactly is the problem?"

"The _problem,"_ Celina said through gritted teeth, "is that we of the Magi have suddenly found ourselves in charge of Asgard. The gods have withdrawn to their own separate plane; they won't tell us why or what they're doing, and even reaching them is a hassle I wouldn't want to risk. You don't pester gods unless what you want is _mighty_ important."

"So? It seems that a situation like that would give you _more_ freedom to act instead of less," Gulcasa challenged.

"So the Magi are a council of seven, all with equal power, and one alone tends to have a fucker of a time restraining six. Ness is… _not_ what you could call popular here. Speaking his full name has become a kind of taboo among the civilians and the Servants; they call him the 'Fallen One', and he's generally considered to be the worst traitor in Asgard's very long history. Only the fact that he's already exiled and sentenced to immortality is keeping him from being lynched. If people found him here, it'd get ugly _very_ fast. The gods might judge him harshly and make him live with a worse punishment, but a mob is a mob is a mob…"

"…and we all know what mobs are capable of," Kylier finished for her. "Cripes."

"Not only that, but Ness… has enemies in high places," Celina went on. It sounded to Gulcasa like she was choosing her words carefully. "One of the other Magi, in particular… the little birds have it that he's the one who got Marietta all stirred up and chasing you all. And let me tell you, she's been _spoiling_ for an excuse to head back to your world and show Ness a thing or two since you all beat her last time. She's—not a bad person, but she's stubborn. It's hard to knock sense into her once she's gotten it into her head that something is evil.

"Anyhow, back to my esteemed colleague. He's popular with the people, and he's completely ruthless—and he was brought into the Magi at the same time I was; back then, he was actually campaigning hardest for Nessiah to be killed for his so-called crimes."

Gulcasa clenched his teeth. _No sane man, then; no one to be reasoned with._ He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Kylier had gone pale and was hugging herself tightly around the diaphragm.

"So do what you can to keep him the hell away from here, and you all stay away, too. Asgard isn't a good place for ordinary mortals to be at any time." Celina pulled a face and stood up; the door opened again, admitting the Servant and Nessiah, with an armful of lumpy bag. "You find what you needed?"

The Servant nodded; Nessiah gave them all an anxious-looking smile.

"Yes—I'm sorry for having to impose like this…"

"Don't worry about it," Celina interrupted, waving a hand. "If you're done… you all ought to be headed back to your world. I'll send you, if that's alright?"

"Ah… yes," Nessiah said, sounding caught off-guard. "Yes, that would be…"

"Stand together, then." Kylier and Rosary drew closer to Gulcasa, who held his arms out; Nessiah picked his way across the debris on the floor to stand at his side. "I'll be watching you all… I hope things turn out well for your friend."

"Thank you," Nessiah said hoarsely; Gulcasa would have added something, but Celina raised her hands and light enveloped them, and they were back in the middle of the town before he had time to blink.

* * *

It took him two and a half weeks, but Roswell recovered.

The illness, on top of the damage he'd done to his body, had taken their toll—at least according to Flone. While he had indeed received proper treatment, he'd gone through a great deal of emotional, physical, and mental stress, and would need to remain in bed for another week yet.

He had a lot of people fussing over him; even Gulcasa's family went in to check up on him every now and then. His guests smiled and joked to each other that Roswell was certainly apologizing enough to make up for the anxiety he'd caused them, although the looks on their faces said they would rather he hadn't.

The way everyone wanted to fuss over him, it took Rosary five days to be able to make it in alone.

Roswell was lying back against his pillows, staring off into space, when she pushed the door open, peeked inside, and closed it carefully behind her. She didn't want interruptions; she had the one chance to do this right anyway and didn't want to waste it with someone intruding at the wrong time.

When he caught sight of her, Roswell's eyes went wide and his cheeks paled; his lips shaped her name. Rosary sighed and walked over to the chair his last visitor had left at his bedside. She made a face at it, then sat.

"I figure I'd better say this sometime. And I'm only going to say it once, so listen, will you?"

Roswell just watched her anxiously; his gaze was incredibly hard to bear.

"I'm… sorry," she managed to choke out, "about what I said. I was angry. I wasn't thinking. I said it to hurt you, but I didn't realize it'd be this bad, okay? So." She shifted, uncomfortable with the words she'd just made herself say; Roswell went on staring at her, his anxious expression replaced by shock.

"…Rosary…"

"Look, I…" She shifted again, made a face. "You and I… we only ever slept together the one time. And that was a bad idea all around. So I don't have any hold on you. I can't tell you whose skirts you shouldn't be chasing, whose bed you shouldn't be in. No matter what it looks like to me."

He started to say something, and she held her hand up. "I _know_ you haven't had sex with Yggdra. I just said that to piss you off, okay? You're an airhead, you're oversensitive, and you're a pompous asshole sometimes, but one thing you _aren't_ is a two-timer. You've got honor. …I don't like repeating myself, dammit."

He tried to speak again; this time Rosary grimaced, again holding her hand up. "And don't you try telling me that you weren't with that fallen angel. I'm not an idiot, Roswell; I'm not some stupid virgin anymore either. I've had more than enough men in my bed to know what sex smells like. And you definitely smelled like it, and him.

"But it really doesn't concern me. Your bed, your body, your business. I may not know what in the name of all that's holy it is that you _see_ in him, but…" Sighing, she shrugged, tossing her hands up and letting them fall. "I shouldn't have gotten all mad. Don't even really know why I did."

Roswell didn't say anything; it took her a moment to realize that his eyes were welling with tears.

"Oh, for—don't _cry!"_ Rosary felt her face starting to heat up. "You don't have to get all… all… I swear, you're so hopeless! You're the most hopeless idiot I've ever met!" Half laughing hysterically, half flailing awkwardly, she dug out a handkerchief and held it out at him; Roswell took it gingerly and used it to carefully blot the tears away. They kept forming. Rosary sighed and flipped a hand at him, indicating that he hang onto the handkerchief as long as he needed it.

She sat there for a while, gathering herself, before she forced the next words.

"…I wanna try again."

Roswell looked up at her with a puzzled expression. Rosary made a face.

"I… it was a stupid thing to do back then. Breaking that pactio. We learned a lot from each other; we could've learned a lot more. We were _friends _then—but then we let our… _my_ damn parents get in the way. _Damn it, _I always hated those two. I hope they're turning somersaults in their graves, hearing this.

"That whole thing—maybe that's half the reason you're as messed-up as you are. I mean, sure, you're all weepy over your own parents, but it means it's my parents' fault you turned out so, so…" she waved a hand in the air, unable to come up with a word. "And maybe it's even my fault too, at least a little bit. So if it's my family that was the problem—Esmeraldas fix what they break, okay?"

"…Rosary, I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Roswell told her faintly, his voice still thick from unshed tears.

"I'm talking about the pactio, stupid," Rosary said insistently. "I… I did a crappy job of protecting you then. I want to do better now. If it's not too late—" she took a deep breath, and let the words burst out. "I want a second chance as your partner, dammit!"

"Rosary…" His eyes were wet with tears again, but at least now he was smiling. "…I would be honored."

"Well. Well, if that's settled." Rosary reached into one of the pockets of her coat and pulled out the sheet of parchment on which she'd written the glyph. "We'll just… take care of that now, and I'll let you be."

It was harder work for her than it would've been for that damn Nessiah, but she wrote the glyph in the air with magic, and it formed a softly shining circle on the floor beneath them.

Roswell's face was flushed. Rosary waited for a moment, realized he wasn't going to do anything, and then leaned in herself, sighing. She paused when her face was a heartbeat away from his, and not sensing any resistance, laid her lips along his.

Magic _surged _between them, catching Rosary off-guard with the sudden clutch of pain in her chest. It hadn't been like this before, so dark; that first contract between them had been so bright—

It was the change in Roswell, she realized, and maybe the change in herself, too. He was so very sad, so _very_ alone, his magic—his _heart_ felt so very fragile, almost brittle, even though his magic was so much richer with it, aged like fine wine—

Then her hands were tight on his shoulders, his firm on hers, and he deepened the kiss very naturally; Rosary lost the ability to think straight.

How had she thought that the magic had been surging before? It had just been a little trickle as compared to this, this _explosion_ from his to hers and back. Even as it ripped at her heart, it sent fire through her chest and belly, her breasts and thighs and between her legs; she was kissing Roswell hungrily, and he was moaning faintly; she'd left the chair and was kneeling beside him on the bed.

He threw back the sheets covering him; he wasn't wearing very much—that was good, that was good; less time to waste. Her hands made for the buttons of his silken shirt, fumbling; his softly cupped her breasts and slid down to find a gentle hold on her hips, gathering up her skirt and pushing her hose down.

She got his shirt open, and slid her hands over the deliciously smooth skin of his chest, down to the waistband of his breeches. Ravenous, blistering magic coasted on lust and a million other raging emotions she couldn't name; all she knew was that she had to have his hands on her or she would lose her mind. He fought her hose past her knees, and she kicked them off; then he or she rolled them somehow so that she was on her back in the sheets and he was crouched over her, his soft hair trailing onto her cheek and the side of her neck. Their kisses hadn't once abated; she was dizzy, already so dizzy when he slipped inside her.

Thoughts melted and congealed into one long moan of _oh, God, yes._ It had been too long since she'd been with a man; there was so much pleasure, so much heat ripping through her belly and breasts to the rhythm of his tender strokes. She thrust her hips up to his insistently, and he quickened his pace; she cinched her legs around his waist and gave an urgent, ecstatic near-_squeal_ into his kiss as she climaxed. He moaned and held her tightly, his hips jostling hers wonderfully roughly as he came into her.

* * *

It was twilight when Roswell woke.

He was warm and felt better than he had in a long time—it was probably because of the strange, sweet dream he'd had. Rosary had come here, out of the blue—she'd actually apologized to him. They'd kissed; they'd reestablished their pactio, and even made love. Well—_had sex, _Roswell amended to himself; there'd been a bit too much need, not enough tenderness to call it lovemaking—

When he sat up, he realized his clothes were half-pulled off, twisted with sleep. The sheets and comforter had been brought up around him tenderly; although he was alone in the bed, there was a pactio card with Rosary's image on the pillow beside his.

Roswell sat and stared at it, uncomprehending, until there was no more light to see by.

**(tsuzuku)**


	25. keep away

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"How _did_ you know where to find Roswell, anyway?" Nessiah was finally able to ask.

He and the others were arranged across both sides of a long table, eating breakfast outside. They would be headed to Flarewerk in the afternoon to aid in the hard, sweaty effort of rebuilding the inner city; Nessiah wasn't particularly looking forward to it, but it was a necessity. He wasn't sure whether or not the others felt the same, but all of them were taking their time about their food.

Yggdra considered his question for a while, and eventually shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just felt—I just felt that he was in pain, and that he needed me." She laid her hand over her chest, frowning. "I… I'm just not sure how to describe it, but it was such a powerful pull. I didn't know where he was consciously, but I felt drawn to the mansion…"

Nessiah frowned and then nodded. "…I suppose that makes sense. The way you've trained your magic… probably would strengthen your intuition and empathy." Those were, after all, his own magical strengths—it would make sense for Yggdra to have inherited them, also.

She nodded, staring down at her food with a grimace; Kylier looked to him questioningly. Nessiah shook his head slightly, trying to keep her from asking—at least here.

"It's just unfortunate that you had to arrive before Gulcasa and the healers did. That you had to see Roswell like that, I mean…"

Yggdra shook her head. "I've… seen Roswell hurt himself before. And over the course of the war, I've seen… and caused far bloodier scenes. I… I appreciate your worry, but all the same…"

"It's different, though, when it's somebody you love in the middle of a bloody scene," Kylier pointed out. "I think I'd flip out pretty damn hard if I saw Milanor or Ness like that. I mean, cripes. Especially when there's nothing you could do yourself."

"Don't poke at her—or at me, please," Nessiah told her. "It was painful to be with him then, but better with him than away from him. I'm not sure what _I_ think of having seen that, even after all I've seen and done."

"I think… that's true. That's… how I feel about it, too." Yggdra set her fork down and sighed, still staring down at her half-eaten meal.

Nessiah sat up and leaned forward, reaching across the table to cover her hands with his. Yggdra looked up and smiled at him, then interlaced their fingers.

"I'm just glad he'll be recovering," Elena murmured. "Flone said he'll be able to join us working by the end of the week… Asgard's medicine certainly worked quickly."

"Considering how old Asgard is, it has no excuse for producing anything substandard," Nessiah said lightly, unable to keep from smiling. He squeezed Yggdra's hands, then let go of them. "…Now… are you going to be finishing that?" he asked, pointing at the fried bread on the edge of her plate.

"Yeah, yeah! 'Cause if you're not…" Nietzsche piped up.

Yggdra looked up at him, blinked, then turned to Nietzsche—and started to giggle. "There's more than enough to share," she managed at last, and gathered up the Undine's plate and the fallen angel's, promptly dividing what was left on her own plate between the three.

* * *

Rosary lay sprawled on her bed, holding her new pactio card out and staring at it as she lazily flipped it between her fingers.

It looked a lot like the one they'd done as kids. Well, there were exceptions—the image of Rosary herself had changed, the Artifact looked less childish, and the values had changed a bit—but even so, it brought back memories.

God, she'd been such a pushy little brat back then. It was a little bit embarrassing, remembering how she'd acted—throwing tantrums left and right whenever anything had displeased her, when she should've been able to accept what she had even if it hadn't been perfect. At least she'd grown up enough that she never did that anymore.

What she'd done with the contract that time was especially embarrassing. Even as a kid she'd had a flair for the dramatic, but ripping the cards in half? Roswell had gotten a look on his face like she'd just punched him in the gut, as if she hadn't already gone overboard with what she'd been saying.

That night had been a mistake, and a big one. Sighing, Rosary rolled over onto her back, holding the card up and crossing her legs at the knee, clutching the spread with her toes. The contract hadn't been. She hadn't been able to take the one back, so she'd destroyed the other. And she'd hurt him even worse.

That was the problem with Roswell, really—there was nothing wrong with being sensitive, but when you were _that_ oversensitive, you were just begging to get your heart trampled on.

She made a face and ran her free hand through her hair. It was that quality in Roswell that made her wonder how in the fuck he was even _friends_ with someone like Nessiah, let alone anything more. The pipsqueak of a fallen angel was grating by nature, and went out of his way to have fun at other people's expense. By all rights, he should've reduced Roswell to a bloody weeping wreck. The fact that he hadn't was—weird. It put strange little stabs of—Rosary wasn't sure what, in her chest.

Maybe she should just be relieved to know that Nessiah was capable of something other than smugly making humans dance on his strings and demanding an eye for an eye. There'd been real righteous fury on Roswell's behalf in his stance, in his voice when he'd yelled at her. More than, when he'd taken a swing at her. (How did a tiny little guy like that _hit_ so hard?) It was a revelation, and maybe not a pleasant one—Nessiah was capable of caring about something other than himself.

Anyhow.

Rosary hoped she was taking a step in the right direction, redoing her pactio with Roswell. It was high time she stopped ripping on him whenever any little thing in her world went wrong—high time she took another step towards growing up, because for _God's sake, _she'd changed in the past three years. Or she hoped she had. Maybe they'd never again be as close as they'd been when they were little, but they could at least be friends again, right?

"At least be friends," Rosary murmured aloud, and sighed. "…oh, boy."

She hoped to God that what that pactio had led to had been the magic talking, more than either of them. She really hoped so. Their first pactio hadn't been nearly that intense, but then, there wasn't any of the passionate good and bad between them back then that there was now. And it probably _was_ the magic, considering—she'd been standing there sure enough when Roswell had done his contract with _Nessiah, _and that probably would've gone horizontal if there hadn't been an audience; they'd been half-groping and Roswell's tongue had just about been down Nessiah's throat.

Rosary shook her head and rolled over again, burying her face in her pillow.

She _liked_ sex. She was red-blooded, human, and breathing; of course she liked sex. She liked the physicality of it, the sense of control, and of course the pleasure. She liked feeling dominant and powerful and female; she liked instilling a sense of helplessness in her partners. She liked to make _sure_ they were helpless, damn it, with blindfolds and shackles and rope if that was what it took. And, fine—it turned her on to be able to do whatever she pleased with her bedmates while they were tied up and helpless. She stopped teasing them if it scared them; she wasn't some kind of rapist, dammit. It was a _kink._

There had been no control with Roswell. He'd had none. She'd had none. She'd been as helpless as he was, and she didn't like it. She'd been too caught up to realize it then, of course. She'd been too caught up to realize much of _anything; _thank God she always wore protective charms out of habit, or she might have gotten _pregnant._ Which would have been a complete and total disaster no matter how she sliced it. She wasn't ready to be a mother; even giving a child away for adoption would've knocked nine perfectly useful months out of her life with sheer misery. And finding a healer willing to perform an abortion was rare and said damn healers made their patients pay through the nose.

Rosary punched her pillow.

What really bothered her, though, was that despite how charged with lust and magic it had been, Roswell had been so goddamn _tender_ with her. It touched things in her that she didn't want touched; it had slapped her in the face with something she didn't want to realize.

He loved her. He still loved her. Damn it.

He'd been in love with her for the past three years, since their first time or maybe before—Rosary wasn't sure, couldn't be sure. She wasn't in his head. She remembered the look on his face then—shy, worried, reverent, _adoring—_and she remembered vaguely thinking _uh-oh_ before their bodies had really clicked and pleasure had knocked every thought out of her head until her parents had burst in.

And she'd buried that memory, refused to think about that pleasure and that look on his face, in all the chaos. She'd wanted to blame the misery she'd gone through afterward on anyone but herself, and Roswell had been the nearest and easiest target. Even after she normally would've forgiven him—her parents had gone to so much trouble to pour poison in her ear about the entire goddamn Branthèse family, and she'd started to believe it. It had been, _was_ much easier than shouldering any kind of blame.

Even now, having been confronted with the way Roswell felt about her, something in Rosary wanted to do a repeat performance. Part of her was telling her that she had to rip this card in two, pack her bags, and run for the hills. She didn't have any idea what she did and didn't feel about him, or even how much of what she did and didn't feel was her parents' influence talking. She didn't want tender, didn't want to be tied down; she wasn't ready for that yet, and it _panicked_ her.

But she didn't want to run away. She wanted to change. If she ran now, while Roswell was still vulnerable, the shock might kill him. If she hurt him badly enough, she'd wind up with a crazed fallen angel out for her blood. And much more importantly, just because she was an Esmeralda didn't mean she had to stay her parents' daughter forever. She didn't have to hurt Roswell just because he was Roswell.

There was a middle road somewhere. There had to be. And if there was no obvious one, Rosary would _make_ one.

She'd almost wanted to stay with him, she admitted to herself. She'd almost wanted to stay with him while he'd been lying asleep, all mussed and vulnerable with his arm soft and warm around her waist. But that would have been stupid all around. It would've given him the wrong idea, and anyway, Roswell was Nessiah's lover now. (Weird, how she had to keep reminding herself of that even when it was stuck on her mind.) She certainly didn't intend on destroying that, when she didn't want Roswell for herself. (Especially when Nessiah was _crazy_ and would probably have something to say to her about it.)

Rosary sat up and sighed, staring down at the pactio card in her hand.

"We just keep putting one foot in front of the other," she told it. "We just keep doing that, and watch where we're going for once so that we don't wind up in the same goddamn rut as before."

It was simple, she knew. She just hoped to God it wasn't too difficult to stick with it.

* * *

Roswell paced the town border unsteadily.

Flone would probably scold him if she caught him out and about—she'd been riding herd on him ever since he'd started getting restless abed; even with the medicine he was still taking, she didn't want him exerting himself "too much". And she'd gotten downright snappish with him two days ago, when he'd tried to head down to breakfast with the others.

If he didn't have the sense to tell for himself, she'd _make_ him pick up sense somewhere; there was only so much he could handle at the moment. She'd told him that in a no-nonsense tone and gotten to work pushing him back towards bed while Russell had shot him sympathetic looks.

But he had to find Nessiah, and talk to him. Somehow. He had to confess what he'd done; it was the right thing to do. Even if it tore at him.

He loved Rosary—he always had—but that was no excuse. Neither was the power of the magic that had connected them then. He'd managed to restrain himself when it had been Nessiah he'd kissed—managed to restrain himself _twice._ And Nessiah was the one he was supposed to be with.

It was a promise they'd made each other. And Roswell had broken it.

He'd never done anything like this before, and it sickened him a little that he was capable of something like it, even just based on getting carried away. Rosary—her magic, her lips, her body, their sex—had driven Nessiah completely out of his mind, and it wasn't until he'd awakened afterward that he'd really realized what he'd done.

Roswell had been _unfaithful._

Even as he thought the words, his chest clenched.

_Even though I promised—even though Nessiah trusted me with so much—even though I trusted _him_ with so much—despite everything, I…_

He hissed, and bit his lip.

Footsteps made a soft whispering sound in the grass behind him, and Roswell turned to see that it was Rosary. She had one arm behind her back and was scratching at her cheek with her other hand, glancing off to the side.

Love roiled in Roswell's chest, followed by confusion and pain.

"…Um, hey," Rosary said awkwardly.

"…Hello," Roswell answered, his voice soft.

There was a tense silence.

"About—yesterday," Rosary began, and sighed, fidgeting like a naughty child. "I—that was bad. Really really _really_ bad. I—can't believe I'm saying this again so fast, but. Sorry. I… put a hole in your perfect track record, it looks like." She tried to smile, but it didn't stay on her face.

Roswell shook his head. "You don't need to apologize."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

He shook his head again. "…I have to tell Nessiah—somehow. I've wronged him badly, and I need to come clean with him for it. No matter how painful it may be—hiding it would be worse, and far more painful."

Rosary grimaced and nodded. "Yeah—that's probably the right thing to do. …Since when'd you have all these balls? I don't think I could do it if I were in your place. Um—do you want me to come with you? It's my fault as much as yours, it takes two for that kind of thing."

Sadly, Roswell smiled; the coincidences and ironies of life were so cruel. Here he finally had some of his friendship with Rosary back, but had that come at the cost of his relationship with Nessiah?

"…No. I'm afraid that—if you were with me it would only be more difficult."

"Yeah, I get the feeling that maybe he doesn't like me too much." Rosary rubbed her cheek with an ironic smile and woeful eyes.

How could he ever say how grateful he was for her understanding? Was this how Nessiah had felt when he'd first used Restoratus, was this the feeling of regaining a limb long lost? It was natural for Rosary to be his ally, more natural than anything else. Roswell couldn't help but smile a little.

"It's true that Nessiah would be less receptive to anything I have to say with you around. But more than that—Nessiah is my responsibility, and even though… what happened between us is something that both of us can be blamed for… you weren't the one to betray him. That was me, and only me."

"That's true. When'd you get this _responsible?"_ Rosary shook her head—Roswell guessed the gesture was directed at herself. "Well, I—can't say too much about what you should and shouldn't feel bad about, but… if you need a plan of attack, or moral support, or just somewhere to come if this goes really badly—well, I'm here."

She held out her hand with a lopsided, shy little smile, flush-faced.

Heart aching, Roswell reached out and clasped it in his own.

* * *

"Well, are we all ready to go?" Yggdra asked, looking around.

"…I suppose we must be." Nessiah wasn't exactly looking forward to this, but it couldn't be helped—and it was important to do, too. And—well, there was also the matter that he would be able to catch glimpses of Gulcasa performing strenuous labor. Which was both a blessing and a curse.

Beside him, Kylier turned around and frowned. "…Hey guys, you can go ahead without me if you want, but I gotta go take care of something for a sec." And before anyone could ask what this nebulous 'something' happened to be, off she went.

"What's that about?" Nietzsche asked aloud—of course; she was the only one of them who _would_ address it so openly. "Bathroom?"

"Maybe," Nessiah replied, nonplussed. "I hope she doesn't take so long if that's the case; we've got a fair bit of ground to cover before we can really join up with Gulcasa and the others."

Elena, who had been watching as Kylier ran off, suddenly frowned. "Isn't that… Roswell she's talking to?"

Nessiah turned sharply around, too—and be damned if it _wasn't_ Roswell there. They were quite some distance away and Nessiah couldn't tell what was being said, but Roswell looked anxious, and Kylier's back presented a stern image to their group. After a few sharp gestures, she sent Roswell off in the other direction, and then walked back towards them, making a face.

"…Kylier, what did _Roswell_ want with us? Shouldn't he still be in bed?" Nessiah asked blankly.

Kylier's scowl deepened. "He wanted something really stupid. Worry about it later, guys—we've gotta get going or we're going to be late."

With that, they headed to where the cart was waiting with a pair of unfamiliar dragons under its yoke, clambered on—and helped Nietzsche up—then set off towards what remained of the capital.

The journey was about an hour long, as the cart had to make its way through Drominos; even knowing the pathways through the marshy woodlands, it always took a while to navigate them. Yggdra checked and double-checked their supplies, with Kylier eventually moving to help; Elena sat and seemed to meditate, and somehow or other Nietzsche fell asleep with her tail flukes hanging off the edge of their ride.

Even though he wouldn't have thought it possible the way that the cart jolted over every uneven patch of ground, Nessiah supposed he'd dozed off, because one moment he was curled up in the corner as they entered Drominos and the next Kylier was shaking his shoulder and telling him that they'd arrived.

…It stung, seeing Flarewerk like this. Nessiah had been in and out of the proud Bronquian capital several times over his hundreds of years—it had once had a decadent grandeur on par with Paltina or the Aqua Palace in Embellia. But now—

The skeleton of Castle Bronquia still sat upon the cliff, mostly walls and framework. The Obsidian Spire behind the castle proper had crumbled entirely, crushing Brongaa's altar beneath its shattered, melted bricks. Even what was left of the stone that had formed the castle showed scars from the fire, and the upper city was a scorched ruin yet.

At least, Nessiah thought to himself, at least the lower city was regaining some life again. The fires hadn't hit this area so badly, although the destruction of the Arc of Triumph had damaged a number of homes and the lower market. That damage had mostly been repaired—new homes were standing in an odd mismatch of old styles and new that managed to be strangely charming, although Nessiah felt like he could practically still smell the sap on them. And there were people living in the new homes, too.

From what he'd experienced before, Flarewerk felt like a tiny colony or separate community from Bronquia as a whole—it was very tight-knit yet dependent on the rest of the country, since it couldn't support itself quite yet. And even with the rest of the country's aid, the reparation wouldn't be getting anywhere without the money Yggdra had strong-armed her cabinet into putting into it, but—

Everywhere he looked, Nessiah could see people carrying lumber, tools, and supplies, excited and determined. And he could sense it from every soul in the ruined city—no matter how close Flarewerk looked to being a dead, lifeless husk, it was overflowing with hope.

In imitation of the Royal phoenix—and Nessiah himself—the Imperial capital would rise from its ashes as proud as ever.

The cart reached the plaza that was serving as the capital's hub, and they disembarked—helping Nietzsche down from her perch, Elena and Kylier carrying supplies.

A man in work clothes waved them towards what remained of the fountain. "Bring your stuff over here, and we'll figure out where to send you all."

Gulcasa was at the fountain, holding a sheaf of paper and alternating between reading it and handing off orders. The shirt he'd been wearing was draped over the edge of the fountain; he'd pulled his hair back messily into something that would have resembled a horsetail if it didn't appear to be steadily coming loose. His skin was shiny with sweat and looked bronzed in the midday sun; his pants were hanging low on his hips and just like that time before, just the faintest suggestion of that red-black line of curls peeked over the top of the heavy fabric. He looked so very in his element and powerful and assured and _male—_

"Privy…," Yggdra squeaked from where she stood next to Nessiah, and dashed off back down the road. Nessiah's blush darkened, but he _knew_ where she was coming from, and managed something along the lines of having to go too.

When he came back about ten minutes later, Gulcasa was thankfully gone; Elena also seemed to have gotten some kind of assignment. Kylier and Nietzsche were still there, though.

"You shoulda gone before we left," Nietzsche told him sagely.

"I didn't have to then," Nessiah replied with a straight face as Kylier snickered. "Do we know where we're going?"

"Yeah, you and I are fixing roofs and Nietzsche's on supply runs with Yggdra; we're just waiting for Herself," Kylier told him, still grinning.

He settled in to wait along with them, but Yggdra joined them only a few minutes later, taking the road at a run, still looking deathly embarrassed.

"I… got lost on the way back," she said before anyone (meaning Nietzsche) could ask. Her face was still rather red and she was out of breath, though that could very well have been from the running. "I'm sorry, everyone."

Nietzsche scolded her for not visiting the privy before they'd left (Yggdra blushed harder, and Nessiah felt his face redden along with hers in sympathy); Kylier repeated the orders they'd gotten, and they started heading towards the construction they were supposed to be assisting.

"At least we don't have to worry about Gulcasa popping in all shirtless for today—he's working on the other side of town, so you guys don't have to be on watch. Or jump in the river."

Nessiah glanced to Yggdra, who had also glanced towards him; both of them blushed and looked away sharply.

"Kylier…" Yggdra's voice was tiny and constricted.

"Kylier, _shut up,"_ Nessiah said flatly.

And then they arrived, and they didn't have to worry about Kylier's teasing or Nietzsche's innocent questions anymore—their supervisor took them aside and explained the day's goals, and they would be working far too hard to pester each other.

Nessiah looked up—the sun was still high in the sky, mocking him. He turned away from it and sighed; today was going to be a long and thankless day.

* * *

_So in the end it comes down to me having to play messenger,_ Rosary thought ruefully.

Not that she thought it wasn't the most convenient way to do things—she couldn't sneak him down to Flarewerk without his being caught and really yelled at, and especially since he was still kind of wobbly, there was no way in hell he'd be able to do it on his own. So even though she wasn't too keen on it, it would be easiest for her to go and make sure Nessiah knew he needed to talk to Roswell once the workday for the current Flarewerk crew was done.

Since she was able to ride on her broom, it was easy to clear the road through Drominos to reach the ruin of the city; it was nice taking the trek by herself for once. When Rosary was actually on the reconstruction crew, going to and from Flarewerk was always the worst part; the difficult terrain slowed everyone else down considerably, and she couldn't race ahead of them because waiting for them to catch up once she'd reached Flarewerk was boring as hell.

It was about an hour after midday when she actually reached the city, from what Rosary could tell when she squinted up at the sky (the sun wasn't directly overhead, at least—but then she wasn't exactly good at telling the time just from ogling the heavens). She sighed as she arrived at the gate, dismounted from her broom, and balanced it sweep-up on her shoulder as she marched under the ruins of the Arc of Triumph.

…There were a lot of mixed emotions for her in this place, really. She'd had big plans for the Ankhs—there were places she could get with them so much more easily, and she could have jumped over her own limits so much faster with them in hand—and not only had this place marked her final failure to obtain them, it'd shown her just how far apart she and Roswell really were in maturity.

Rosary paused where she stood and looked up again. Part of the Arc was still intact, and its rough outline blocked out the sun, its blinding halo just peeking out balefully from behind the stone. She remembered fishing around in the rubble while Milanor had been hurrying Kylier back towards the emergency camp they'd been forced to set back up the road, and coming up with a few scraps of silvery metal. She remembered wanting to cry and kicking rubble instead, pocketing them. Roswell, up on his feet with a few bloodstains still at his lips and nose and on the front of his then-dusty finery, had come to stand with her, but he hadn't rummaged with her, and only smiled hollowly at her frustration. He'd made some remark about it being beneath him, about it not mattering anymore now.

It had made her really mad then, even though she'd been guilty about it at the time. At least now she understood better where he'd been coming from.

Was this what other people referred to as "growing up"? Rosary made a face; it was an anxious kind of happiness and impatience, and it was entirely uncomfortable.

At least now she'd actually be able to sit down with Roswell over tea and talk about stuff like this with him again. If there was one thing she was actually thankful to Nessiah for, it was kicking her indirectly into choking out that apology, making her swallow her pride enough to bridge the gap between herself and her hapless cousin. She really had missed his friendship.

Of course, now it came with the obstacle of those messy feelings of his, but you had to take stuff one step at a time. Rosary would figure out how to answer him at some point.

"Can I help you?"

Rosary blinked and looked down at the man whose voice had interrupted her reverie. She didn't know him, but he was dressed in work clothes and had planks of wood tucked under his arm, so it was probably safe to mark him as somebody doing reconstruction.

"Uh, yeah. I've got a message for Nessiah," (mentally she congratulated herself for not appending insults to the brat's name aloud) "you know where I can find him?"

The man paused to think, then grinned. "He should be with Kylier's group, and they're on lunch break right now. Head up the road and then take a right at the fountain—you can't miss 'em."

Rosary nodded her thanks and started off, not really paying attention to the construction other than what she needed to not run into (or be run into by) anyone. The noise had driven her insane when she'd first started working, and it was still obnoxious, but she could deal with it better now.

Her current pet peeve regarding construction was that it was so much harder to keep track of your own progress than in magic, where your work could be measured in months if results weren't instantaneous. Construction was usually consistent, but it was slow and had a habit of doubling back on itself, and the fact that she was working here every few days kept her from being able to look at Flarewerk at the start of the week and come back at the end and notice, for instance, "Oh look, a new line of houses got rebuilt". All she could see was the continuous effort. What a pain; she couldn't even get properly proud of her accomplishments if she didn't know how to measure them.

Anyhow, it really was easy to find Nessiah with the worker's directions. There was a grassy slope near the river, and Kylier's little group had put a picnic blanket down to sit on while they ate. Nietzsche was stuffing her face as usual, Elena seemed to be trying to get her to eat more politely, and Kylier was apparently teasing Yggdra, who was blushing and waving her hands awkwardly. Nessiah was asleep with his head and shoulders on Kylier's lap.

"Yo," Rosary called, raising a hand to wave at them. The girls turned to look at her; Nietzsche waved back enthusiastically, and Yggdra and Elena smiled at her. Kylier just raised her eyebrows.

"Good afternoon, Rosary," Yggdra said brightly as she drew closer. "What brings you here today? I didn't think you were on the construction group today…"

"Nah, I'm not—I'm just here on messenger duty," she replied as she sat down.

Kylier groaned, and Rosary turned to her to see that she was facepalming. "I can't believe it. Roswell got _you_ to come say it for him?"

"Yeah, he said you headed him off," Rosary retorted a bit flatly, "but I don't get _why_. You don't even know what we're trying to pass along, do you?"

"Not really. I just don't think Nessiah needs to get distracted right now."

Yggdra, Elena, and Nietzsche were following the conversation intently with varying amounts of curiosity and confusion on their faces, so Rosary just shrugged and sighed. "There's a saying about shooting the messenger, isn't there? And it's not like we're trying to—distract him. It's just pretty important."

Kylier scowled. "Well, obviously he's asleep."

Rosary shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You don't have to wake him up, just pass it along. Or tell him when you're on the way back, or whatever." What did Kylier think they were trying to do, honestly? Roswell wanted to come clean, and he at least deserved the chance to do that, didn't he?

"I don't really understand what's going on, but I… suppose we'll pass on the message," Yggdra told her with a smile.

_And I highly doubt Kylier's going to give you the chance, but…_ "I guess I'll go back then, thanks. Keep up the good work."

Rosary wanted to shake her head at them again, but instead she just stood up and headed back towards the Arc. Making a pest of herself probably wouldn't help their case at all.

* * *

"What's gotten into her?" she complained to Roswell later, waving her fork—they were eating dinner in his room because Flone didn't want him straining himself heading down to the outdoor mess tables (despite the fact that both of them protested he wasn't _that_ delicate). "I mean, she's acting like she's his disapproving mom or something." And she raised her eyebrows at him, trying to ask without saying it if Kylier really _was_ disapproving of Roswell and Nessiah's relationship.

Roswell, who'd been playing with his food more than eating it, delicately speared a piece of meat on the end of his own fork and turned it over and over in the sauce, frowning. "Kylier knows about us, but she's always been—supportive. And she couldn't know what happened between you and I… I'm lost as to why she would be trying to keep us from communicating." His frown deepened a little. "Unless Nessiah is still upset with me because of the festival."

Rosary scratched her head and groaned. "Well, I have no idea, but it's a pain. You want to talk to him, it's important to you, so she should at least let you talk to each other." She put her fork down; she felt like stabbing something with it. "And I don't get why he'd be upset with _you._ He just seemed pissed at _me,_ really."

He didn't answer her for several moments—first he played with the piece of meat for a while longer, then he ate it slowly. "He's been—trying to help me with the way I… overreact and get that way… for some time. And I think I frightened him. He has more than enough reason to be upset with me."

She had to wonder if this was making him waffle on his decision to talk to Nessiah, or getting him worked up about it even more. Either way, Rosary's first instinct was to tease him, which she stifled. She wanted to be a better friend, which meant being supportive.

"Well, he was in here before I came to talk to you, right? He didn't seem mad at you then, did he?" Rosary picked up her fork again and waggled it at him.

Roswell looked up at her with something between surprise and wonder on his face, and she could feel her cheeks heat up slightly (what was _with_ him? God) as he nodded slowly and smiled a bit.

"No—he seemed normal. You're probably right."

"Of course I am—and you should know, you two _are_ that close, after all." Rosary put her fork back down, folded her arms, and nodded to herself. When she remembered the issue at hand, though, she scowled and deflated. "Still leaves us with the question of why Kylier's being a stick in the mud."

They sat in silence for a while as Roswell resumed slowly eating, and after a while there was a knock at the doorframe. Rosary turned around.

"Well damn. Guess it's true that if you talk about devils long enough, they'll pop out of the woodwork, huh."

Kylier's brow knitted as she gave Rosary a schoolmarmish look; Rosary barely resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out.

There was another short silence, and then Roswell spoke.

"Will you let me talk to Nessiah now? It—really is important."

Kylier made a face and scratched her cheek; she looked sullen and unsure. Rosary was almost certain she was biting back some kind of _it's complicated_ remark. "How important?"

"Just believe him when he says it's important," Rosary said flatly; the way Kylier was acting was so obnoxious. What was she, Nessiah's secretary? "Why are you so worried about it?"

"I just—" Kylier hesitated again. "I just have a bad feeling about it."

Rosary suppressed the urge to snort. _What, so is she a fortune-teller now?_

"I mean it. It's hard to explain, but the way you're acting—I just _do._ And damn it, if this was what it was like for Ness back when he was dead sure you were getting sick and I didn't believe him…," Kylier's voice trailed off and she shoved her hands through her hair. Rosary had no idea what she was talking about, but she looked frustrated. "He's been having a pretty crappy time, and I just—don't want him to wind up unhappy again right away. If you've got bad news or—whatever—I just… can't it wait?"

"It would be worse to wait," Roswell said softly. "This is something I need to tell him now—it would be an unkindness to postpone it. It's true that I—don't have something particularly happy to discuss, but the situation can only deteriorate at this point."

It was admirable of him, Rosary thought to herself—Roswell knew that he would probably come off the worst here if he offended Nessiah, but he wasn't shying away or squirming at the prospect of getting yelled at, maybe zapped. He'd done something wrong, and he was prepared to take whatever punishment he felt he deserved. It was a stupid attitude, but it was responsible. Somehow she felt like she'd turned her back on him for five minutes and he was already an adult.

Kylier didn't seem convinced. "Well, will it hurt him?"

"Possibly, yes," Roswell admitted evenly.

Her stubborn expression deepened, and Roswell sighed.

"When you've been shot, it's better and it hurts less to break the shaft and pull the arrowhead out quickly and cleanly," he said patiently. "It's very painful, yes, but you might do even more damage if you spend your time wiggling it and trying to pry it out bit by bit. If Nessiah is going to be hurt by this—I'd prefer to do it like that, instead of letting things fester and giving him more things to doubt and resent."

Kylier crossed her arms. "It's important?"

"Yes."

Rosary thought she was going to refuse, but Kylier's shoulders fell slightly. "I guess… I'll go get him then." She gave the two of them a look that was more wary than accusing, and vanished from the doorframe.

* * *

"Good evening, Roswell."

Nessiah was smiling. He looked a bit flushed, and in the light from the window, his skin shone a bit as though he'd spent a lot of time sweating. He'd probably been so busy working under the sun lately that he was going to wind up with a sunburn, Roswell thought; these kinds of experiences were probably good for him though. Nessiah had talked to him before and told him—mentioned shyly that this was the first time in a long while that he'd worked so hard with other people, out in the open, instead of from the shadows, on the outside looking in. Even now, although the sun was setting and it was going to get a bit colder, Nessiah was only dressed in his underrobe.

…Roswell had heard that Emilia was trying to cajole him into expanding his wardrobe, getting a few more outfits like this one. He could understand where she was coming from—Nessiah's robes were so old and battered and thin from wear and washings. The pale lavender stripes in the folds of this one had probably been crisp violet once. Nessiah was a little worried about Emilia's taste in clothes—likely more than just a little—but if other people helped, he would probably cave in.

As those observations ran through Roswell's mind—all of them painful—Nessiah sat down on the edge of the bed. He was smiling—still relaxed—still happy, still blithely unaware. _You shouldn't seem so innocent, so naïve, so pure. You shouldn't have put your trust in me so easily if all I was going to do is destroy it._

"Kylier said you had something you wanted to talk about?" Nessiah prompted.

Roswell nodded. "I do."

It was like… he had to put them on a scale, and constantly weigh them. He'd been doing so ever since yesterday. There was a part of him that was urging him to defend himself—to make excuses—to plead with Nessiah through their bond, their relationship. To hold on to Nessiah, cling to him with everything he could use. Because while Roswell had loved Rosary for so long—Nessiah was the one who had always been here for him. Had comforted him, and slept by his side, and entrusted him with the vulnerable parts of himself, and supported him when Roswell couldn't support himself.

But if he really cared at all—he couldn't weigh Rosary and Nessiah against each other. It was too late, and if he really cared at all, he had to do the right thing.

"I have something I need to apologize to you for. I—did something cruel to you."

"…Roswell?" There was concern in Nessiah's voice and confusion on his face.

"I won't make excuses." Roswell looked down at his hands. "And I won't try to explain myself. Though I will—tell you the situation. I've reestablished my pactio with Rosary."

Nessiah seemed taken aback, although the surprise on his face was positive, and he was starting to smile again. "Roswell—"

"…I slept with her."

The smile fell away, leaving Nessiah with a blank expression.

"There are thousands of ways I could try to justify it, but nothing will. You and I have a relationship—have a trust, and I disregarded that selfishly. It was—wrong of me to betray you like that." And Roswell did not, would not, ask for forgiveness. He didn't need it—loving Rosary didn't make it right to betray Nessiah, or betray his own principles.

Nessiah was silent for a while, but then his smile returned.

"Isn't that something… you should still be congratulated for? Roswell."

He was smiling, but there was a faint desperate note to his voice, and a hollowness to that smile. It hurt Roswell's chest. "Nessiah—"

"I mean—she's the one you love. Isn't she? And if you two… it means there's still hope for things between you after all. She's abandoned—her pretense of trying to hate you, hasn't she? You're going to resolve things. I'm happy for you. I never had any hold on you from the beginning, so—"

"Nessiah, stop it," Roswell interrupted. He knew he was going to have to bear this pain—he'd brought it upon himself—but he just couldn't stand watching Nessiah make that face. "This isn't about—Rosary and me. It's about us. About the fact that I betrayed your trust. I don't—want to hurt you, but it happened, and I just—knew I had to tell you. It would be wrong to pretend that everything is fine." To try to hold on to Nessiah, cling to him selfishly, and think that Roswell's infidelity didn't matter. Because Nessiah was his friend, his lover, and _should_ have been important enough to stop him back then.

The smile slipped from Nessiah's face again, leaving him with a blank expression. There was a long silence as he turned to stare at the wall. It—hurt. Nessiah wasn't the cool and controlled man Roswell had first met—he wasn't the shy but happy person of the past few months anymore—he looked like a discarded doll.

"…I don't know…"

"Nessiah…?"

"I… don't know… what I should say… or what I should feel." Nessiah lifted his hands and stared at them emptily. "…Should I be… angry? Or sad…? Or hurt, or…? I don't… know. This… it's the first time anything like this…" _has ever happened to me_ went unsaid. "…it wasn't ever… a possibility in any plan. So I don't—understand how I should react."

"Nessiah—" Roswell lifted a hand automatically, wanting to offer some form of comfort, but Nessiah held up an arm to stop him, blocking Roswell's attempt at touch.

"Don't…" Instead of emotionless, now Nessiah's voice was small, and it shook slightly. _I don't want to fall apart here_ was probably the implication.

There was a long silence as they sat like that, Roswell still unsure how to proceed now and Nessiah apparently gathering his composure.

"What—should we do?" Roswell asked at last.

Nessiah shook his head slightly. His chains made a soft sound—dragging, grating, not musical. The sound of that metal was always dull and heavy. "I don't—know either, but…

"I think…," he said weakly as he raised his head—he sounded so unsure—"I think we should… take a break… for a while."

The words were weights on Roswell's chest, but he nodded. "I understand. If you decide you want to—try again, let me know. If this is—really it, I… understand." He tried to smile, but it felt wrong, so he abandoned it. The expression would probably look as hollow as Nessiah's.

Abruptly, Nessiah stood; he didn't look at Roswell. "I have to—" he broke off, shook his head. "I have… to go. I need to think."

Roswell nodded, but Nessiah was already half out of the room; the sound of the door closing made him wince. It sounded altogether too final, trite as that was.

He sat still for a while, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so that he could hide his face in his hands.

**(tsuzuku)**


	26. stop your clock

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"So I was talking to the foreman, and it looks like we're going to have the entire south and east blocks finished by the end of summer," Gulcasa announced with a little pride as he sawed through his steak with the breadknife. It was making a mess of the thing, but the other utensils were getting washed and it didn't matter how the damn thing looked—it would still taste great. "The west block should be almost done in fall, and then next spring or summer the northern district will get finished. We can start preparing to salvage Castle Bronquia now, and next year we'll get to work rebuilding that."

It was lunchtime, he'd been working up a sweat all morning, and their relief had taken over, so Gulcasa and his family, along with a number of Royal ex-commanders, were back in the village. Relaxing. Which felt so much better if you'd been putting your back into something.

"It's gonna be _weird _moving away from this place," Emilia remarked beside him. "A lot's happened here—I think I'll prolly miss it." Then there was silence filled only by the clatter of her utensils; Gulcasa looked at her to see that she was eyeing the only food still on her plate—a wedge of cheese—with distaste. Emilia kept up her staring contest with it for a while, then pushed her plate to Zilva, who was sitting next to her. Zilva frowned down at the cheese, looked away, and pushed the plate across the table to Aegina.

Aegina blinked at the plate, then sighed and ate the cheese. Gulcasa shook his head at them, inwardly amused.

"You guys are way too picky."

"Cheese is _gross,"_ Emilia replied in a sullen mutter that wasn't quite a whine.

"And if I hadn't eaten things I thought were gross when I was a kid, I wouldn't have survived. Come on. And you're bad enough by yourself, but Zilva? Seriously. You should be over that by now, right?"

Zilva didn't reply; instead, she inclined her head and got up from the table, heading off with a completely straight face.

Emilia looked up at him reproachfully. "Don't make fun of her 'cause she's got _sense. _Besides, I don't see _you_ eating cheese or drinking milk too much."

"Yes, but _you_ are still growing, and _I_ am just about finished with that. Anyway, that reminds me—where'd Kylier run off to earlier?" Nessiah's friend had occupied that seat before Zilva had gotten there, but she'd left a while ago; Gulcasa had been drawn into conversation with other people and been unable to ask at the time, but that didn't stop him from being curious.

His little sister just shrugged. "I think she went to go check on Nessiah."

"I haven't seen him all day, come to think of it. What's going on?"

Emilia shrugged again, and smiled a little bitterly. "I dunno. I think… maybe he got in a fight with Roswell yesterday."

* * *

"Hey."

Kylier sat down next to Nessiah and ruffled his hair; he didn't even try to swat her away, but just leaned listlessly to the side so that his cheek came to rest on her shoulder.

He was still blank-faced, and from Kylier's experience with him, that was kind of a bad sign. When Nessiah wasn't being vibrant and emotional, everything he felt plain on his face, he smiled constantly—maybe coldly, maybe outright nastily if he were angry or in the mood for stirring up mischief, but whether he was being childish or mature, honest about his emotions or not, he was always expressive.

The way that Nessiah was acting… well, it reminded her of stuff she'd seen in his head. The stuff that still gave her nightmares sometimes, the stuff that made it easy for her to understand and accept the worse things he'd done.

"You okay?"

"…I don't know."

"You don't sound okay."

"…I said I don't know." Nessiah's voice was so flat. Kylier winced inwardly.

"I think right now nobody would care if you cried or got mad and broke things."

"…"

"Ness." She sighed and stroked his hair again. It was messy; he'd probably slept on it strangely, if he'd even slept at all. He ought to wash it and let it fall straight again. "Have you even cried yet?"

He didn't answer her, which meant he probably hadn't. It didn't look like he'd cried—and if he'd cried badly he'd have his eyes bandaged under that mask anyway.

"Whatever you're feeling, you should let it out. It's not good to keep it all in."

Nessiah shook his head slowly.

"I don't even know… what I'm feeling. I can't tell if I'm angry…, or if I'm sad, or hurt. What should I be feeling? What do I _want_ to feel?"

He was probably asking himself, but Kylier answered him anyway.

"I don't know what you want to feel. What do you think?"

Nessiah shook his head again, and she felt the slow silky drag of his hair and the rough surface of his faceplate's gold carvings beneath it against her shoulder. "Roswell and I—it was only for our own convenience, really. He needed someone for as long as Rosary kept spurning him, and I… took advantage of it, I suppose. It was comforting to have someone like that. But now they're not so strained with each other, this would have happened eventually. Logically, there's nothing at all to be angry about."

"Feelings don't have much to do with logic, Ness. You wouldn't feel what you do for Gulcasa if they did," she reminded him. And if not for that illogic, the war might've ended a lot differently. Everyone's feelings had gotten wrapped up in that conflict, and the emotional flows to it had carried them all to strange places, like the wind during a thunderstorm.

"Maybe. Perhaps you're right. But I still don't really know… how I feel, how I should feel. It's all blank. I'm tired, Kylier."

He sounded tired, she thought, and patted his back along the old scars.

…There was emotion in those last three words. If only just a little bit, there was emotion, so she was sure he didn't _feel_ blank. He probably felt so much he just didn't know what to do with it.

But still, there was nothing she could do about it unless he could _admit_ that to himself, so Kylier sighed and patted his back again.

"Why are you here again, anyhow?" Nessiah asked. His voice was mostly flat again, but he was looking up at her now. "I'm not interesting. You should be out with Milanor or the griffons."

"My boyfriend doesn't need me right now, and Emilia can handle the griffons by herself. She's not too bad at it, for a princess." She said so matter-of-factly, and with a smile. "You need company, though. I think I could handle it even if you _were_ being boring."

"Milanor will sulk if you pay attention to me and not him," he told her, and there was the slightest ghost of a smile over his lips.

"He'd sulk worse if I went to hang out with him and spent the entire time worrying about you, though. He's not a baby—he can handle a few hours without me."

"And I can't?"

"I just said you need company, didn't I?"

Nessiah didn't answer her, and so they sat for a while in silence. Kylier wished that having seen his memories would help her manipulate people a little better—if he didn't want to open up on his own, somebody had to prod him into admitting everything to himself, but she had no idea how she could do that.

Even after he'd not-so-nicely went behind her back with Milanor and shoved her into facing up to what she felt about Al, and about working with griffons again. Kylier made a face and rubbed Nessiah's shoulder. He needed a good kick into looking at his own feelings too, but she had no idea how to give him one, let alone where to aim.

So all she could really do would be to sit with him and keep him company and hope. Nessiah wasn't Roswell—he knew better by now than to do anything dumb—but even so, she didn't want him moping around by himself.

And now things were all quiet and starting to get awkward. Nessiah didn't seem willing to say anything, and Kylier didn't know what she should say to break the ice. She'd been fine just sitting, but the tension was making her fidgety and uncomfortable. And she couldn't fidget too much, or Nessiah might wind up feeling bad about it and throwing her out.

The only certain thing was that he needed somebody.

She was so busy getting drawn into her irritations that she only noticed the footsteps the moment before the door opened, and all she could do was blink and stare as Gulcasa took one step into the room and then stopped.

There was another brief silence.

"Gulcasa…"

And Nessiah was the one who broke it, sounding stunned. His weight left Kylier's shoulder, and she glanced over to see that he'd sat up and was staring at Gulcasa now.

"So something _did_ happen. I was a little worried since you weren't around, and I had time so I thought I'd check on you, but—"

"Gulcasa…!"

Nessiah's voice cracked, and then the next second he was up on his feet, throwing himself across the room and at Gulcasa so hard that the Emperor staggered half a step back when they collided, even as big as he was.

"Nessa, what the hell—" Gulcasa was just looking down at him with a confused, helpless-looking expression. And, Kylier noted with raised eyebrows, Nessiah's shoulders were shaking.

_Well, I guess that's that. He doesn't really need me here now._

Shrugging and smiling, Kylier stood up and stretched. She crossed the room, pausing on the way out to pat Gulcasa's shoulder.

"Looks like it's your turn now, big guy."

"What the—I don't—what the hell is even—"

Leaving him and his protests behind, Kylier just left the room and then headed down the stairs. Now that Gulcasa was there (and man, just _seeing_ him had been enough to get Nessiah actually crying), she might as well head out so that the air'd be clear for them.

She set her shoulder to the heavy door, and it swung open without her having to push. Not thinking anything of it, Kylier just set out in the direction of the griffon stables. Maybe it was the tension the air had had or the stress, but she felt like a headache was coming on.

The sky was clouded and gray; maybe it would storm later. The air smelled a little sharp; maybe it was the change in pressure instead.

Sighing a little, Kylier rubbed her temple and ducked into the stables.

Aside from the griffons and Emilia, the place was deserted. The kid princess looked over and waved, and Kylier lifted a hand to return the greeting.

"I thought you were staying with Nessiah?"

"I was, but your brother showed up, so I'm chopped liver." Kylier sighed and trudged up the stall next to the one Emilia was fussing with and leaned on one of the wooden posts.

"Y'know, I don't think I really ever got that saying," Emilia said with a frown. "I mean, liver's not the best food out there but it's not that bad."

"I don't know how you manage to like liver and hate cheese. You're one weird kid. Besides, if you don't eat more stuff with calcium than just milk you're not going to grow at all."

"Says _you._ I'm already taller than Nessiah and you know it," Emilia retorted primly. "And I am _so_ not a kid."

"Yeah, but you're still almost as flat as a board."

"Takes one to know one!"

Kylier considered trying to find something to throw at Emilia, but refrained. She didn't have to sink to the kid's level.

"Anyway, mind helping instead of just standing around? It might rain, so we can't let these guys out and they're getting antsy."

"…Yeah, sure."

_At least Nessiah's gonna be fine now that Gulcasa's with him._ Kylier sighed again. _As old as he is, somehow he still manages to be the most high-maintenance of anybody here…_

And she stood upright and glanced around for some work to do. If she got nice and tired, she could lie down and sleep until this headache blew over.

* * *

It was as though everything he'd felt had resolved itself into a thick and tangled knot of frustration and tears and helplessness inside his chest, and Gulcasa's arrival had located the beginning thread, given it a sharp tug, and unraveled the whole thing.

Gulcasa didn't ask any questions—he just held on and let Nessiah cry. He was grateful for it; he didn't know how he could even begin to explain any of the underside of what had happened, what was still happening. Even the simplest of explanations—_Roswell and I broke up_—would lead to a veritable inquisition.

But Gulcasa didn't ask at all. Nessiah would never be able to thank him enough.

It was as though he'd lost his sense of time—he had no idea how long he'd been clinging to Gulcasa and crying; he just knew that it felt like forever and like no time at all, and that he hadn't been able to make himself stop until the tears had run dry on their own.

Even after it ended, Gulcasa's hand kept running over his back, a careful stroke from his shoulders to his waist, soothing and rhythmic. Nessiah sat there and enjoyed the simple comfort, his cheek rested against Gulcasa's chest, for just a little bit longer.

At last, Gulcasa spoke.

"Should I go hit him for you?"

Nessiah couldn't help but smile. "No, don't. What passed between Roswell and myself was inevitable; there's no need to keep worrying it. I want to accept the way this is making me feel, and just move on."

That was right—move on. Start doing things again. He couldn't continue languishing like this—there was a city to rebuild, and beyond that…

They still had to be on guard in case Asgard hadn't given up. And then there was the problem of Brongaa, too.

What was he _doing?_ They couldn't afford to simply sit still and waste time, yet here he was frittering it away, mourning his relationship with Roswell and nursing his own hurt.

"I'm being stupid, aren't I."

"…Nessiah?"

Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up; Gulcasa loosened his hold enough for Nessiah to sit up straight. Once he was, he drew a slow breath, held it, and slapped his own cheeks briskly. The shock and the slight sting felt as though they were flipping a switch inside him—as if they were forcing him back into function.

He turned to smile at Gulcasa, who was glancing down at him with something of a bewildered expression, and touched his own chest.

"Thank you. Thank you for being here for me. I'm not—going to try to tell you that this doesn't hurt. But I think I… don't want to spend much more time wallowing in that hurt. I think…" He hesitated, then nodded. "Everyone's doing what they can to help Bronquia rebuild, and it's far past time that I started doing what I can, as well. I want to go to Lost Aries."

Gulcasa's eyebrows rose sharply, but he did not ask.

"…If it's construction, then everyone else has it in hand. Bronquia isn't so broken that its own people can't fix it, at least as long as you're here. But what are we going to do about _you?_ About Brongaa's soul inside you, I mean. Before you went ahead with the Ritual of Soul Unbinding, you were able to contain the power of your demon blood well, but ever since that time, you've been struggling. I should take responsibility for that, at least. But I don't know enough about the kind of 'binding' necessary to separate and contain Brongaa within you and leave your natural power intact. So I suppose that in this case, it's most prudent to borrow the knowledge of others. I have the necessary strength, so I simply have to build up the wisdom that's lacking."

It was so obvious. If he felt lost and didn't know what to do about Roswell, then he didn't have to fix or attempt to alter his own feelings right away. He could hold the issue within his heart and continue to work on the other things that were important—he couldn't let everything stagnate because of his own emotional frailties.

Especially, he thought to himself as he stared at Gulcasa and the comprehension dawning on his friend's face, because Roswell was certainly not the only person he cared about.

"…I see. So you're going to go borrow her papers."

He'd been trying not to say so in as many words, but Nessiah couldn't dispute it, and so he nodded. "Yes. I suppose it must seem terribly insensitive of me, but that woman was one of the most knowledgeable on Brongaa in this world. She'll definitely have left the fruits of her research behind in Lost Aries; if I can find it, then I can learn from it, and adapt it in ways that can help you."

Gulcasa took a long look at him, then nodded. "It sounds like a good idea. Actually, if you don't mind the company… I think I want to go with you. It's been a while. I should go pay my respects."

And because he could see the resolve in Gulcasa's eyes, Nessiah didn't ask if he was sure. The both of them had responsibilities they had to shoulder. Gulcasa was an adult; he knew when things like this should be beyond him, and when they weren't.

"As long as you get permission from the others. Honestly, if we go together—if I can ride with you—it'll take less time."

Gulcasa was starting to smile, and it eased the ache that still burned within Nessiah's chest. "I don't think they'll mind too much if we're gone for a few days. And—if it doesn't bother you, I want to head north a bit before we actually go back over the border. We've been spending all our time with Flarewerk and the villages, after all—I haven't been able to head back to Tiera for a while. I should visit Siskier."

It would take a bit more time, but Nessiah couldn't refuse Gulcasa when it came to something like that. It was important to him—and it was a matter of paying his respects, after all.

* * *

They left the day after that.

Yggdra could tell that Luciana and Aegina weren't happy about it, and that Roswell and Rosary—who had been together quite a lot, given the circumstances, and it made her both relieved and strangely anxious to think that they were reconciling after all this time—seemed to have some mixed feelings, but it was something that Gulcasa and Nessiah had decided to do, and they would only be gone for a little over a week. Gulcasa had packed lightly, saying that anywhere they couldn't buy food, they would be hunting for it instead, and wore leather armor rather than his ceremonial suit of plate because his dragon would be supporting two riders instead of one.

Emilia watched them go with an expression that said she was tempted to follow them, but ultimately didn't.

"I wonder why they're headed north first, though?" Yggdra pondered aloud as she and Kylier helped Emilia stock the cart that would be carrying them to Flarewerk for the day's work. "Lost Aries I can understand—I know that there were people who were researching Brongaa there—but why north?"

"'Cause north of here's the place where my brother was born," Emilia answered, and Yggdra stared at her in surprise. "It's a trade city called Tiera. We haven't been back there in a while 'cause we were so busy, so he's probably gonna wanna say hi to people there. Besides, that's where _her_ grave is."

"Her?" Yggdra repeated blankly.

"I doubt that's something we should just be discussing around Fantasinians, since they wouldn't understand." The voice that had cut in belonged to Luciana, who folded her arms and gave Yggdra a long and considering look. "Emilia is speaking of someone that you don't know and wouldn't care about. She was one of our comrades who died in the revolution—that's all."

And she wouldn't hear anything else about it. Kylier scowled at her back, but neither of them asked; Emilia shrugged and made no further attempts to educate them.

But, Yggdra thought privately, she wanted to know. If it was about how Gulcasa had grown up and where he had come from—then of course she cared and wanted to know. She wanted to know more about him, and wanted to share more of herself with him.

…Memories of a certain conversation she'd had with Gulcasa and Kylier wanted to surface in the back of her mind, but Yggdra slammed the lid on them before they could, starting to blush. She couldn't dwell on things like that anyway; it was certainly inappropriate when a day's hard work was just down the road from them.

But it was going to be a lonely week without Gulcasa and Nessiah around.

Just that thought made Yggdra smile to herself, quietly and slightly. It was quite a thing to realize just how natural it felt for all of them to be together.

* * *

Not only was the week lonely, it was also a long one.

Maybe it was just due to Nessiah's absence, but Kylier was starting to seem unusually irritable. Cruz and Milanor made a few menstruation jokes to each other, but she quickly discovered them and applied a few skillfully-aimed, magic-enhanced punches to reinforce her argument that _no, _that had nothing to do with anything, thank you very much.

The jokes stopped quickly after that, but Kylier's mood only got worse.

Halfway through Gulcasa and Nessiah's planned trip time, Yggdra hesitantly approached her and asked what was wrong. Kylier scowled and looked for a while like she was considering punching something else, then sighed and closed her eyes and held a hand to the side of her head.

"I've had a headache since the day before those idiots headed out, and it's not going away. If anything, it's getting worse, and I so don't have the time to deal with anyone's crap. I wish they'd just get their heads out of their butts and leave me the hell alone."

"If you've had a headache for that long, then shouldn't you ask Flone to help?" Yggdra ventured timidly. "I mean… if you're sick, then some medicine might be able to help you get better…"

Kylier glowered, then closed her eyes and sank back against her chair. "…Yeah, I guess so."

But all that Flone could tell them was that Kylier wasn't ill in any way.

"It could be a tension headache or a migraine," Flone told them, "in which case you should probably just try to sleep during the day as much as you can until this lets up. Bright light, loud noises, and lots of stress will only make you feel worse."

"As if I didn't know that already," Kylier complained when they left, but she did as Flone said and started sleeping through the brightest hours of the day.

Unfortunately, this meant that she couldn't head back to help the others with construction—it was too loud—and couldn't help Emilia with the griffons, which Emilia didn't seem to mind too much, thankfully. Milanor was the worst about it—unable to spend time with her, as his help was still required in Flarewerk, he sulked. He wasn't developing headaches, but it seemed as though Kylier's mood was in itself contagious.

It continued to spread through her troops like a plague. Milanor's sulking and fits of bad temper irritated Durant, who in turn angered Mistel and the twins by heaping maledictions on Gulcasa for leaving everyone else to deal with these problems while he went out sightseeing with Nessiah. This turned into a loud enough argument (for Milanor pitched in on Durant's side, leaving blame on Nessiah's shoulders rather than Gulcasa's) that it disrupted some of the other workers and narrowly avoided making Nietzsche cry; Yggdra was able to calm the combatants down and send them all in different directions in order to save the work effort for the day, but she was left nursing a headache of her own.

Grimly, Roswell and Rosary offered her tea, which Yggdra accepted gratefully as she sat in Roswell's room with them, trying to rid herself of the negativity.

"But that can't actually have been the cause of all of Kylier's headaches in the first place, could it?" she asked suddenly, struck by the possibility. "Nessiah leaving, I mean? Since they're partners and everything…"

"It shouldn't be—or else all the other pactio holders would be getting the same headaches," Rosary pointed out. "Kylier just has a nasty migraine and Milanor's having trouble handling not having her around when he wants her there. I doubt he's pleased to learn that relationships don't always get to be convenient."

At this, both Roswell and Rosary rolled their eyes, as if looking down on Milanor for even thinking that after having lived in close quarters with all the rest of them. She wasn't about to say so out loud, but Yggdra quite agreed with them.

The breaking point came on the eighth day after Gulcasa and Nessiah's departure, when they were due back any hour, and Yggdra, who was too busy worrying about what they would think about her inability to keep morale up to watch herself, accidentally let Milanor's bad attitude slip to Kylier.

The two of them had been sitting in Kylier's room with the curtains pulled shut, keeping their voices down in some attempt to help how Kylier's head was hurting (though it didn't seem to be doing too much good in the end). But upon hearing what Yggdra had mentioned about Milanor causing arguments, Kylier stood up sharply with cold fury on her face.

"He's been _what?"_

"I think he just—misses you, and he doesn't like not being able to come and see you in the daytime, so he just…" Yggdra shrugged helplessly and a little meekly, but Kylier's expression didn't change.

"That stupid dumbass! Who does he think he is? Dammit, if he thinks I'm just supposed to run around at his beck and call—"

And then she was off and running, shoving her way around the table and kicking the door open—Yggdra heard it smack into the wall with a sharp crash and winced—then charged down the hall towards the outside, her footsteps echoing like cannon blasts.

It took Yggdra a few moments to realize that if she didn't go after Kylier and hold her back, she and Milanor might actually wind up in a fistfight—or at the least, Kylier might make her condition worse—and that thought was enough to have her hiking up her skirts and running after her friend. Kylier was quite a ways ahead of her, making a beeline for the library; it was all Yggdra could do to keep the distance between them from growing.

Only after Kylier had opened the library doors with as much violence as she'd kicked her own open did it strike Yggdra as somewhat odd that she would be able to tell where Milanor was, but there wasn't any time to ponder about that now. Stopping them was more important than anything else.

By the time she actually got down the stairs, they were shouting at each other—their voices overlapping so harshly that she couldn't even make any words out.

…She didn't have any plan, but this was just bad. They shouldn't be fighting like this—she was certain of that if nothing else. People who cared about each other might argue from time to time, but not like this. Even if all the tension and the headache were at fault—no, especially because the blame could be placed on those things. She didn't want Milanor and Kylier to wind up saying hurtful things to each other because of something like that—she didn't want them wounding each other the way that Roswell and Rosary had. Even if it was presumptuous of her, that at least was certain.

"Well, fine!" Kylier shouted at the top of her lungs, stamping her foot. "If you're that jealous about the damn pactio, then you might as well just go do one your own stupid self and find out what it's like!"

"No way in hell, and I am _not_ jealous! Besides, relying on magic is for sissies an'—"

Kylier stamped her foot again.

And the bookshelves around her jumped, spilling their contents all across the floor. Yggdra squeaked and dodged falling books, but then had to raise her arms to shield her face.

There was a spiral of some sort of power rising off Kylier's body like a whirlwind, and the books were being picked up and carried by it, forming a sort of mad tornado that was quickly enveloping the entire corner of the library that they were standing in.

"Kylier, what the hell—"

It was Milanor's voice, and he sounded shocked, but Yggdra didn't dare stop protecting herself for a second—the sharp edges of book covers were starting to strike her arms and shoulders with enough impact to bruise.

"I can't—what _is_ this? I can't—" And Kylier's words were cut off with a shriek.

There was the sound of glass shattering, and then a great rush of footsteps, and large but careful hands were pushing her back. And then a warm and familiar presence was shielding her from the wind and the books. Yggdra lowered her arms slightly and peeked up—her guess had been right. Gulcasa was standing there, using his greater height to keep her safe, one arm raised to protect his face while the other held her still in the lee of the storm.

And although she couldn't see him, she heard Nessiah's voice.

"Kylier, you must calm down, do you understand me? Breathe deeply—steady yourself—if you cannot control your power now—"

There was a great noise like a thunderclap, and then a frustrated sound of exertion from Kylier, and then—the wind died down, and there was a great crash of books falling to the floor.

Carefully, Gulcasa lowered his arm. Yggdra's insides twisted to see that there were a few shards of glass embedded in it, and blood already running down from the cuts to sizzle against the floor. Milanor seemed to have escaped the glass, although there were a few bluish marks already starting to appear on his arms where he'd been hit.

At the center of what had been the whirlwind, Nessiah was standing behind Kylier with both arms firmly around her—one hand at her heart, and the other low on her belly. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was slick with sweat; she was biting her lip and the expression on her face suggested that she was concentrating with all her might.

Then she gave a short gasp and her legs buckled, sending her sprawling onto the ground and taking Nessiah with her.


	27. Where All Roads Lead

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"Back up and explain that again," Milanor demanded flatly, staring most unflatteringly at Nessiah. "But use words we _understand_ this time."

Nessiah took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and released it. He was not going to lose his temper at Milanor and make this any more annoying than it had to be.

"As I have been trying to make clear for the past hour," he replied, unable to keep the drawl out of his voice, "Kylier's condition over the past week or so was caused by a buildup of magical energy.

"It's something that even I should have realized long ago but didn't. I've always thought it somewhat odd that she was able to throw off my control during the battle on Ancardia, when her life energy was weak and she had no magical training to help her. And I definitely thought it was strange that she would receive a magical tool as her Artifact instead of a weapon. But more pressing issues have driven it from my mind all this time.

"Essentially, Kylier has latent magical talent. It was likely small at first, and buried so deeply that it was missed when she was growing up. So it grew unchecked instead of being ordered and trained. And the stress of the war, the stress of our bond, the pactio, the use of her Artifact—it's developed her power so that it is now quite strong… and requires training and regulation."

He turned to look at Gulcasa, then Yggdra, then Milanor, then Kylier herself; they all seemed to understand him by now, though Milanor still wore an incredulous expression and Kylier looked pensive.

"I guess this means the problem's as good as solved, then," Gulcasa said with a shrug. "She just has to learn the basics of magic, and we won't have to deal with any more huge meltdowns. Right?" Before Nessiah could answer, he seemed to consider something, and shook his head. "No matter what, it's not going to be as bad as what I had to go through three years ago, right?" There was a slight wariness in his eyes that suggested it wouldn't surprise him if it was.

"No, not at all. For one thing, Kylier's power is significantly less massive than yours, and using it won't contradict the way her body has developed up until now. Even as far as late-revealed magical and demonic gifts go, you're an unusual case; nothing in particular has been blocking the growth of Kylier's magic—it was just allowed to grow wild and unnoticed. Think of it like a garden; the state of Kylier's magic is currently snarled and overgrown. It just requires some pruning and shaping and it will cease to be a problem."

Yggdra covered something that looked suspiciously like a giggle. "That's an interesting simile."

Nessiah just shook his head, sighing.

"I don' get it again," Milanor groaned. "What the heck is this three years ago thing?"

Nessiah turned to Gulcasa, but he was already shrugging and making to speak. "My powers as a descendant of Brongaa were sealed until I was seventeen, and even I didn't know about them until that seal started to break. You'd have to ask Nessiah or Emilia how it works, because I'm still not a hundred percent sure _I_ understand it, but I thought I was an ordinary human up until then, and my body also believed that it was human. Because of that, when the seal broke, I had a lot of trouble learning to use my power and even controlling it at all." He smiled lopsidedly at Yggdra, who Nessiah suddenly realized was looking very worried. "I had help, so I figured it out, but for a long time it was really damn annoying until then. You remember what happened down in Lombardia, right?"

"I remember you suddenly fallin' on your face," Milanor volunteered helpfully; Gulcasa took a swipe at him. Milanor didn't duck quickly enough, and so the strike collided; Gulcasa rested his hand back on his hip with an unusually prim expression and Milanor rubbed the side of his head, scowling.

"I got sick like that or worse all the time—from overusing my abilities _and_ whenever I didn't use them enough. Having to deal with Brongaa driving my own instincts crazy is nothing compared to that." Gulcasa glanced at Kylier, then shrugged. "But if Nessiah says it won't get that bad, then that's a good thing. I'll lay off the horror stories—it's not like they have much to do with our situation now."

That definitely put things in perspective, if nothing else. Nessiah felt the tension in his back and shoulders loosen just slightly. "Anyhow, this just means that we'll have to take a few hours out of the day to teach you before or after you go work on reconstruction. If I'm busy, I'm sure you can get help from Roswell or Rosary—"

"Not interested."

He stopped, staring at Kylier blankly. Her expression had become quite sullen, and she was staring off into a corner, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Feeling everyone staring at her, she sighed. "Look, I don't care all that much about magic. Given my druthers, I'd rather stay on the front line, thanks. That's where I'll do the best. I didn't go to all the trouble of starting to work with griffons again just to switch over to being a witch at this late date."

"I don't really understand what you're getting at."

She turned slightly to glower sulkily at him through half-lidded eyes. "It's different for Yggdra, since she decided she was gonna stop fighting with swords altogether a while ago, but you can't make me stop defending myself. Funny, I never thought before now that you didn't like girls fighting on the front lines."

Nessiah tilted his head slightly to the side as everyone else looked on. "I'm still not quite sure what you're talking about, but it seems that one of us is laboring under some sort of misconception. Kylier, I'm not asking you to stop working with griffons or to become a mage. Honestly, at your age it's a little bit late to expect you to alter your mindset and approach to life like that."

"Then _I_ don't see why you want me to learn magic."

He sighed. "Kylier, please recount the past few hours' events for us."

She said nothing, but her expression darkened. Deciding that he might as well interpret that as her starting to understand his point, Nessiah moved on.

"The idea of having you learn the basics of magic is to keep people from getting hurt whenever there's an unusual buildup of power in your system, or whenever you lose your temper. You don't really get much say in the matter, unfortunately, as this is a matter of our safety. As long as you don't know how to control yourself, you could easily wind up accidentally harming or even killing the people around you, and I doubt you'd enjoy dealing with the aftermath of an incident like that.

"But on the other hand, all you really need to learn is control. That will include teaching you how to implement your power in battle—imbuing your weapons with delayed spells, for instance, or giving you superhuman strength. This won't be removing you from the front lines, as you seem to be concerned about. All this represents is a brief inconvenience to you. And we have the time to spare with the reconstruction schedule."

Kylier still didn't seem to want to agree so easily, and she folded her arms, her sulky expression unchanging. "And who's gonna take care of the griffons while I'm getting magic lessons?"

Before Nessiah could reply, Gulcasa rolled his eyes and interjected. "I hope you're not making any statements about my little sister's ability to handle her own responsibilities. She wouldn't be too happy with you."

Kylier didn't say anything else. Nessiah waited a while to make sure, then turned to look at everyone else.

"Well, if that's settled, then everything else is pretty simple. It's just making sure that someone has a little time to spare for Kylier to learn from them each day. We don't have to keep standing around here, then—I'll clean up the books, since I can do that the fastest."

Yggdra smiled a little. "Then, I'll leave it to you." She turned and vanished between the bookshelves; Nessiah heard her footsteps echoing off towards the staircase.

Kylier was still making a face like she wanted to protest, but Milanor tapped her on the shoulder and nodded toward the exit. They followed after Yggdra silently, close but not holding hands. Nessiah wondered briefly what that was about, then remembered that Kylier's magical meltdown had been triggered by some kind of argument between them. It must still be a little bit awkward to shrug that off.

Gulcasa was still standing there. "Are you sure you don't want some help? She really made a mess, after all."

Nessiah smiled and raised both hands before him; the books lightly floated up into the air, gently bobbing up and down. "I think I'll be quite all right, though I'm grateful for the offer. As things are, though, if you don't head back upstairs you may wind up getting hit again. I plan to finish this off quickly."

"I forgot for a minute you could do that. Show-off," Gulcasa said with a grin, shoving at Nessiah's shoulder. "Anyhow, since we still have to unpack, gimme your bags. I'll find some space on your desk for Mom's notes."

"As long as you don't make too much of a mess of everything else," Nessiah retorted, but he undid the ties that kept his leather pack slung over his shoulder, then held it out for Gulcasa to take. "Make sure that you go to see Flone about your arm, too. I shouldn't be more than half an hour or so."

Gulcasa accepted the leather pack and tucked it under his arm with more care than his easy words might have suggested he would use. "At least this is a problem that's easy to deal with for once."

"Knock on wood," Nessiah appended dryly.

* * *

Unfortunately, despite how easy it would be to deal with the issue, what it really came down to was Kylier's own attitude about learning magic. Which continued to be less than exemplary, to put it charitably.

She sulked her way through lessons, giving halfhearted efforts at best at learning to meditate and ground herself. Those halfhearted efforts let her magic easily slip out of her control, which made her frustrated—and the more convinced she became that she wasn't going to succeed, the worse her sulks got and the lazier her efforts became.

Nessiah had gotten together with Roswell and Rosary to construct something of a curriculum for her, dividing different tasks up based on which of the three of them was best-suited to teach what. It had been a little bit awkward, with Roswell reluctant to look him in the face and Rosary on edge, but it only took a week for Nessiah to develop an intense gratitude for the time it had taken. If any one of them had decided to take Kylier on as a student alone, they surely would have been driven mad by it by now.

They learned quickly that their lessons had to be held outside (one early lesson with Rosary had seen Kylier accidentally make several charm bottles explode), preferably somewhere with barren ground (she'd started a brushfire once when practicing with Nessiah), and their circle needed to be well-shielded and contained (Roswell had had to deal with the effects of errant bolts of magic one time too many to permit otherwise). Yggdra had offered to join in to help Kylier master the basics, but they'd had to reject her because she didn't have the training or power to actually deflect the ill effects of Kylier's magic.

It was so draining that even relieved from construction duty, Nessiah had barely any energy left over to work out some form of cure or seal that might help Gulcasa cope with Brongaa. And that was just pathetic.

"I'm beginning to doubt that I was ever cut out for teaching," he remarked dryly one day. They were in the middle of lunch, and Kylier had just departed with Rosary for another ill-prospected lesson.

"Oh, only by this late date?" Gulcasa quipped from the seat next to him. When Nessiah didn't reply, he shrugged and reached across the table for the bread and butter. "For what it's worth, it's admirable that you haven't given up yet."

"I'm starting to consider it," Nessiah replied wanly, and leaned against Gulcasa's back, resting his weight along the line of his spine.

"It must be pretty bad for you to say that," Gulcasa remarked with a grin. Nessiah said nothing in return, no matter how he waited.

Across the table, Yggdra and Milanor stared at them in silence, and Gulcasa gave a cursory peek over his shoulder.

"…I think he fell asleep."

Yggdra covered a smile with her fingertips, deep blue eyes sparkling in the way that just warmed his soul. Beside her, Milanor shrugged one shoulder and noisily bit into an apple.

Nessiah didn't stir. _I guess I'll just have to be careful not to let him fall down._

"All bad jokes aside, in this case it really just proves the old saying about leading horses to water. It's hard to teach anything when the student's unwilling. Really, though, I don't get what Kylier's problem is here. If you've got power, it's stupid not to want to use it—at least in my opinion."

Milanor shrugged again. "I can see where she's comin' from, though. Deep down, it prolly feels to her like she's gettin' told to throw away what's been her whole way of livin'. Kylier wouldn't be herself if she weren't fightin' on the front lines, so she don't wanna lose that."

As Gulcasa and Yggdra stared at him, he went on. "Like… y'know, even nowadays you got stuffy people sayin' this and that ain't proper for a lady, and so on."

Gulcasa frowned. "Maybe in places like Fantasinia or Lombardia, but you two are from Lost Aries. In a place like that, it's a matter of survival not to discriminate—you need everybody to survive. How would Kylier pick up a complex like that there?"

"You're right about Lost Aries, but Kylier—she grew up in an orphanage that got set up by a priest from Fantasinia. That guy was always goin' on like that an' she really hated it. Even more 'cause otherwise he was nice."

All Gulcasa could do was shake his head. "That's not anything I could really help with. It just seems weird to me; I haven't got any experience with things like that." Before he'd ascended the throne, life in Bronquia had been too out-of-control for people to squawk about it being improper for women to be warriors, at least around where he'd grown up. And it was probably a product of his upbringing, but gender didn't really factor into his concept of identity. He saw others as people first, with gender as a lesser detail. If people wanted to call him a late bloomer or an overgrown child because of that, it wasn't as if he cared.

Besides, he didn't have much right to comment on how other people treated women, as he was after all a man.

"So what we really need to do here to help Kylier be more willing to learn is help her understand that she's not being judged or made to reform," Yggdra said thoughtfully, winding a few strands of hair around her finger. "Nessiah already told her as much, but I suppose sometimes words alone can't help with a misunderstanding like this one."

Gulcasa shrugged. "Somehow I get the feeling that this is out of my league. If anyone can actually make a difference in Kylier's attitude, that'd probably be you two."

"Yeah, that might be right." Milanor sighed sharply, looking thoughtful.

Yggdra tilted her head to one side, and then leaned forward, resting her elbow on the edge of the table and her chin on the shelf her hand made. As neither she nor Milanor said anything else, Gulcasa went back to spreading butter along the bread slice that was still on his plate; if he left the thing alone it was probably going to start melting soon.

And then Yggdra made a faint _hmm_-ing noise. When Gulcasa looked up, shaking his head to keep his hair from obscuring his view, she had turned towards Roswell, who had been too busy minding his utensils to contribute anything to the conversation thus far.

"Roswell…"

He glanced up at her with an expression that invited her to go on and suggest. Careful not to move too quickly and allow Nessiah to fall, Gulcasa leaned forward and rested the knuckles of his right hand along the length of his jawbone.

"Would making a pactio be good or bad for Kylier while she's learning?"

Roswell frowned. "You mean with Kylier as the magistra, correct?" When Yggdra nodded, he set his knife down and folded his arms, his frown deepening. "I don't think it would hurt. Actually, that would be a way to give her an already-organized point of focus for her studies. The lack of a foothold is one of the things that's causing the most trouble for her, and for us, right now. So yes, that's a very good idea."

"Thank you." Yggdra smiled at him, and then the two of them turned to look at Milanor. Gulcasa followed their gaze; the thief boy was finished with his lunch and chewing on a long strand of grass, staring blankly off at the horizon over Gulcasa's shoulder. Once he realized that they were all fixated on him, he frowned back and forth at them blankly—and then spat the grass blade out, starting to shake his head.

"Wha—no way. Nuh-uh. I know what you're thinkin' and just—no. No way."

"It's not as though she'd be particularly _put off_ by you," Roswell pointed out in a reasonable tone, holding up a finger like a teacher pointing out the obvious.

"And it's not as though kissing her would be all that embarrassing now that you two are a couple," Yggdra added with great innocence.

"Besides, you two have already made up, haven't you?" As long as everyone else was hassling Milanor, Gulcasa figured he might as well add his own two cents. "It's not like she's already got an excuse to start taking shots at you as long as you don't eat your feet proposing it."

"Shut up," Milanor grumbled, turning away. And then: "Would it really do that much good?"

"There's no way of telling _now,_ but it won't hurt. And you're likely the only one who can still try to talk any sense into her at all."

Milanor's shoulders went up defensively, and he scratched at his cheek, then folded his arms.

"I'll think about it," he said gruffly, then stood up and stalked away.

Yggdra smiled at his empty seat and then went back to her own food.

"As long as this doesn't turn out quite like your last matchmaking attempt, I'll be quite satisfied," Roswell murmured with a bitter smile, then gathered up his plates and walked away.

As Gulcasa watched her, Yggdra's expression darkened briefly, and then she shrugged with a murmured "I probably deserved that" and continued eating.

He breathed in, held it, then exhaled as he reached out to tap the edge of her plate.

Yggdra turned up toward him with a startled look on her face, and he smiled at her, though he could feel the expression go lopsided on his face.

"You know—and I mean this in the best way possible," he told her, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Nessiah still sleeping against his back "this guy is really starting to rub off on you."

He wasn't quite sure what response he'd expected, but the suddenness of it made it feel like something inside his chest had dropped out of his body hard when she did:

Wordlessly, Yggdra beamed at him.

* * *

There were of course a number of things that still had to be taken care of aside from attempting to improve Kylier's attitude. Gulcasa left the table shortly after that incident in order to put Nessiah safely away in his room, and when it came time for the afternoon crew to head to Flarewerk for reconstruction, several members were missing; Yggdra was tasked with tracking them down.

She found Pamela fooling around in the field, then Nietzsche down at the riverbank hiding from Pamela, then pried Cruz away from a rapt audience of small children in order to shoo him and the others off towards the caravans, exchanged hurried greetings with Emilia and awkwardly endured glowers from Luciana, then saw the lot of them off.

There was a courier scheduled to arrive from Fantasinia in the evening, probably bearing paperwork for Yggdra to look over, but until then she was free to do as she pleased to a point.

From a nearby hill, she watched as Kylier's "lesson" with Rosary ended, the both of them going in separate directions—Kylier off towards the griffon stable, and Rosary towards the mansion, most likely to go get some rest.

Yggdra stood on her toes and frowned as she surveyed the village, then turned slowly, searching until she caught a flash of red amongst the tall grass that bordered the western edge of town. She pointed, marking its position, and then headed down the side of the hill, her pace naturally speeding up as she made her way down the slope.

When she made her way there, Gulcasa was lying flat on his back in the grass, partially shielded from the wind by a large boulder whose lee he rested in. His eyes were closed, but he opened them halfway and turned toward her when she sat down next to him.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I was just spacing out anyway."

He smiled a little and then settled back, closing his eyes again. Yggdra realized that she didn't really know how to bring up what she wanted to talk to him about.

"Lot on your mind?"

She flinched a little, then sighed, her smile twisting slightly on her lips as she felt her brow furrow. "I suppose so."

"You don't have to watch what you say with me. Go ahead and say whatever you have to."

His voice was quiet and easy, the words natural. There was something very soothing about them, about the tranquil expression he wore as the breeze pulled at his hair and clothes. Yggdra thought that there was a lot that she should be able to learn from this man if she tried. The people she knew said that she had a very calming manner about her, but she was sure she couldn't compare to this man.

"Everything that's been happening recently has been making me think. About a lot of different things. For one, it's nice to know that no matter what comes to pass, we'll find a way to overcome it as long as we're still working together, thinking together. From Asgard's misunderstandings to what's passing between Kylier and the rest of us now. I don't think that any of us could be considered powerless as long as we each make up a part of this team."

Gulcasa nodded, but didn't move to interrupt her. Yggdra shifted where she sat, steepling her fingers and then winding them together.

"It's also made me think—not just what's been happening, but being here in Bronquia—it's made me realize that there's still so much I don't know about you. And I'm still not sure what I feel about that. All I understand is that… I want to learn more about you, and about this place. I want to know the real weight of what Fantasinia has stolen from this land, and… I want to understand you better than I do."

Yggdra closed her eyes and breathed in the wind, then lifted her eyelids and turned. Gulcasa's eyes were open, pale in the sunlight, and he was looking at her expressionlessly.

As she watched, he pushed himself up. Softly, the wind picked up, and his hair streamed out before him like a ragged red banner, subtle gold tones gleaming as it fluttered and fell.

"That's an interesting thing to say. What's brought this on?"

Yggdra looked down at her hands and steepled her fingertips again, pressing the nails together as she measured out the words. "I don't know much about the land north of Flarewerk, and I don't know why your and Nessiah's first instinct would be to go to the researchers in Lost Aries when it came to the problems of your blood. Emilia mentioned that you were born in a town north of Flarewerk, and it made me realize how foolish it is to pretend that these things don't matter. All I know about you before your revolution is that you led a very hard life, and that people like you were oppressed by the former Emperor and his court.

"You know about me, but there are still so many things about you that I don't understand. I want to try to see things the way that you do."

This wasn't a race—in the end it came down to Gulcasa's own choice, once he realized everything—but Yggdra knew deep down that Nessiah probably already knew these things, and she wanted to stay on even footing with him if it was at all possible.

Gulcasa tilted his head and stared at her for another long moment, then stood up, completely without preamble. He bent slightly and held out a hand to her, and nonplussed, Yggdra accepted it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The breeze was pleasantly cool and carried the last of the season's chill along with it, but his skin was very warm. That was probably due to the way his blood all but literally burned beneath it.

"C'mon," he said, and pulled her along behind him.

With Gulcasa leading the way, they made their way back to the top of the hill Yggdra had been standing on top of not so very long ago. Upon reaching its crest, he stretched out an arm and pointed out.

"This is close enough to the coast that you might be able to see from here. Follow the line of the land—do you see the port that's close to the horizon?"

Yggdra strained her vision and shaded her eyes, leaning forward until she caught the silver shadow there. "I think so."

"That's the east half of Tiera, one of our biggest trade cities. I was born in the western half. And since someone who's not Bronquian would have no reason to know—the west half of Tiera was all slums up until about two years ago, after we went in and worked on rebuilding it." Gulcasa wore an easy smile that Yggdra wasn't sure how best to interpret. "That place is full of memories for me. Mostly bad, but some really good."

He let his arm rest at his side and turned back toward her, nodding in the direction of the sea.

"Your eighteenth birthday's a few weeks away, isn't it?"

Yggdra nodded, taken a little aback by the sudden non sequitur.

"When that time comes, let's go there. Not as heads of state, but as Gulcasa and Yggdra. I'll show you around, and tell you a little about what it was like. I think I've mentioned before that sometimes you remind me of someone I used to know. On that day, I'll tell you about her, too. If you want to know about me—about us—about the meaning of the lives the Royal Army has taken… then it all starts there."

Something like a chill ran over Yggdra's skin as she stared at Gulcasa wonderingly. His silhouette was almost completely unrecognizable, even as he smiled at her.

"And I'm glad that you asked. That you cared to ask. In some ways it's a hard story for me to tell, but I consider you a close friend, and that gives you kind of a right to know.

"I've come this far carrying a lot of people's hopes and expectations and ideals. I don't want those ideals to die out, and more than anything else I want to see them spread and take hold. All of this… the way we've come to work together, I think it's time to entrust the things we fought for to you, too. Because we've already decided that my people and yours will be walking towards the future together."

Gulcasa reached out to take her other hand, and interlaced his fingers with hers. Yggdra squeezed his hands lightly, thinking to herself. They'd killed so many people that the other held dear, but no matter how mismatched they seemed, they'd arrived at the day that they could stand hand in hand and talk of understanding one another. In the world up until today… Nessiah alone couldn't be blamed for it, but the endless wheels of war turned by rivers of blood had determined that this kind of thing should not be possible.

_Maybe the world is changing._ Yggdra looked up until her eyes met Gulcasa's and held. As long as this was possible for them, there would be hope.

"People like you and me—we're idiots," Gulcasa said suddenly. "So we have to trip over ourselves over and over before we really find our way. I don't know what she would think of the path I've taken, but I believe—I want to believe that the road to the future we're standing on is one that Siskier… and that your parents wouldn't be ashamed of."

"I want to believe that too," Yggdra told him, her voice barely a whisper. If she spoke any louder, she was sure she wouldn't be able to keep from crying.

With an awkward look on his face, Gulcasa released her right hand and stepped back, twisting his arm so that Yggdra's body followed its arc in a slow pirouette before their fingers slipped apart.

"…Anyway, that's what I think. And I guess that's only if we can get things to calm down a little in our daily lives. As if that's gonna happen anytime soon."

Yggdra giggled. "Oh, I don't know about that. If it doesn't—then maybe we'll just be used enough to it to be able to manage it anyway."

* * *

Milanor had always known where he'd be able to find her. Up until now he'd really just been loitering around, not knowing what he was supposed to do or say.

Ignoring Gulcasa and Roswell's smart remarks—which he had because they were stuck-up idiots and didn't know anything—Yggdra still had a point. A lot of this was Milanor's own fault, even if he didn't really want to admit it to anyone other than himself. He knew, now, how important Kylier really was to him; he'd figured it out without actually having to lose her, and so he ought to make sure she knew it instead of bickering with her over pointless stuff.

And since he'd set her off and gotten this whole mess started, he might as well go try to fix things if it was still possible.

So he made his way over to the field out behind the griffon stables. She was there, sitting against the back wall and staring off into the sky.

Milanor rested his hands on his hips, stretched, and walked toward her. Although she glanced at him curiously, he decided that it'd be better to keep quiet for now and just sat next to her.

He waited for her to go back to cloud watching, then carefully counted out five minutes before finally speaking. Creating a mood for this kind of thing was important.

"Remember that time back when we were kids an' I said I was gonna make you my princess?"

Kylier turned to him with a what-relevance-could-that-possibly-have kind of scowl, so he decided that she probably did remember.

"What if I told you I kinda wanna make good on that?"

"I'd ask what's gotten into you, for one thing. And then ask you what you mean. I think it's a little early into this relationship for marriage proposals."

Milanor felt the tips of his ears burn and shook his head. "That's not really what I mean. I just been thinkin'. I've kinda been bein' an insufferable prick lately, and so I oughta apologize for treadin' on Nessiah's turf."

Kylier rolled her eyes and elbowed him. "Apologize to _him _then_. _Also that joke is getting old and rotten and dead. Can we just have a funeral for the damn thing already?"

"If you want. And I was bein' a prick to _you, _not to him. You're the only person I gotta apologize to about anythin' here."

"Apology accepted. We were both acting like five-year-olds, I know you didn't mean most of that anyway."

"I really was jealous. You know me too damn well. Sometimes it creeps me out how well. Sometimes I don't mind it though."

Kylier nodded and stared at him, legs crossed at the ankles, side of her face cradled in her palm. "So what's got you being all sincere today?"

He took a deep breath and got ready in case he needed to dodge her elbow again. "Well, I went an' asked Roswell to make sure this wasn't a bad idea, and he said it was fine, so. I think maybe it'd be a good idea to give this whole magic knight thing a try."

She looked at him blankly for a while, and then made a face. "Are you asking me to do a pactio with you or something?"

He looked away from her, then turned back, to hell with the way his red face was already giving him away. "…Yeah."

"What the hell?" Her voice was flat and puzzled, but at least she wasn't yelling at him.

"A lotta things, I guess. First off—" And he held up his left hand so that he could tick the reasons off where she could see him do it. "I don' like gettin' left out of this, and this's a way for me to do somethin' for you in this whole magic thing. Second, an apology that's doin' somethin' means more than just sayin' shit. Third off, Roswell said maybe this'll help you get this magic lesson shit over way sooner and start doin' what you'd rather do. And aside from that, I…" He stared up at the sky, wishing the clouds would make a handy series of to-do pictures to help him find the right words. "I said I was gonna make you my princess. I still dunno about this whole stupid lineage thing, but—you're always gonna be my princess. Even if you're the one defendin' me in the end, I wanna be here for you like you been for me."

Kylier leaned forward so that her cheek was pressed against her knee, staring at Milanor long and consideringly. He wished she wouldn't do that. It felt like he was getting put on the spot.

But just as he was about to turn away, she shrugged a little and nodded.

"If that's it, then I'm okay with it. If I have to do all this dumb magic stuff, it'd be much better to have you with me. And if it's gonna help me with the magic stuff, then I'm not making out with anybody other than you."

He wanted to sigh in relief, and almost suppressed it, but decided to let it show honestly and exhaled, smiling a little.

"We okay?"

"Yeah, we're okay."

She scooted over until the side of her hip bumped into his, and then she reached out to pull his head down to her shoulder.

"Kylier, what're you doin'?"

"Shut up for a while." Her voice sounded lighter, so Milanor decided to humor her and stay still for a while. "…Anyhow, whenever you start thinking about it for real? I want a nice ring. Like—go and talk to Yggdra and some of the other girls about it to make sure you're not buying something crappy. No offense, but you really suck at buying presents for girls."

"What the hell, Kylier!"

"Well, it's true. And I know you're my damsel in distress and all, but I still expect the guy to be the one to propose. Princes marry princesses. It's the way the world works, and you know I know it."

His face felt like it was on fire, and she could probably tell. Kylier was annoying like that.

But he liked that about her, so he just sighed.

"Duly noted."


	28. gifts of the west wind

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

In the dark room, the spirals of white paper laid out on the desk and across the floor gave almost an illusion of a tiny, spindly staircase in the dim lamplight. Nessiah, sitting in their midst with the Revelation open and balanced in the crook of his left arm, selected papers with care, skimmed their contents, and set them back down over and over.

It was very late, or perhaps very early, but he had made no headway thus far and felt compelled to at least try to pull something from this woman's writing that would be of use to him.

She had been a brilliant researcher, of course, but it was the ideology of the thing that was the real problem. Nessiah needed her hard notes on magic and how she had accomplished what she had chosen to make her life's work, not her personal commentary on her findings. Not least because, he kept finding, he objected to her commentary and goals on almost every level.

But the answers _were_ here. Somewhere. Nessiah merely had to wade through the oceans of paper until something useful came up.

The real problem, he considered with a sigh, was that he had to keep this to himself—all the poison dripping from this woman's words. The single brief time that she and Gulcasa had ever met—she'd inflicted enough of her words on him for a lifetime. And Nessiah could not be entirely sure that the others wouldn't mention it to him in passing, by accident. They cared about him—most of them did—but some wounds always stayed raw, and it was too much of a risk. The Royal Army wouldn't understand it anyway.

He closed the Revelation and rested his face in his hands, sighing. If what she had said that day and what was written in these documents was correct, she really had wanted to help her son. And at least if Nessiah could extricate the technical skill from the snarl of all the prejudice against Gulcasa's kind—she would be able to do so at last.

The question was how much he could stand the constant grating on his nerves until then.

If it was to protect Gulcasa, he ought to be able to bear it, but perhaps he'd put too many hours into this for one night at least.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep with all of this sitting here," he said aloud, and stood up, leaning over to turn the lamp down and gathering the Revelation to his chest as he walked out of the room and down the hall.

Not so very long ago, he would have been walking to Roswell's room, would have complained and been sympathized with and teased the necromancer into wearing him out body and mind so that he could get a good night's rest. That was the route his feet wanted to take him down, but the reality was that he couldn't do that anymore. Part of him ached just a little knowing that even those simple habits were ended for good, but he pushed that ache away with the stubborn thought that after all this work, he deserved to be a little selfish now.

And so he ignored habit and followed the hallway his heart had always wanted to drift down.

When he opened the door, Gulcasa sat up immediately. "Nessa, what is it?"

"I can't sleep in my room, so I'll be staying with you tonight."

"…Huh?"

In the moonlight that sifted from between the curtains, he could see Gulcasa blink in confusion, sleepy-eyed, hair disheveled.

Nessiah set the Revelation on Gulcasa's desk, then turned his back and unfastened his faceplate so that he could shrug off his overrobe. "I'm just taking it off your tab."

"It's been years since I've _had_ a tab."

"Put it on mine then."

"Not a problem, I guess."

By the time he'd turned back around, Gulcasa had lain back down, and so Nessiah crossed the room to the bed in soft steps, pulling the covers down on the unoccupied side of the bed.

As soon as he eased himself onto the mattress, Gulcasa rolled over and put an arm around his waist, not even opening his eyes to do it.

Stretching, Nessiah dragged the covers back up, then rested back against the pillows.

"Good night."

Gulcasa just made a noncommittal sleepy noise in response.

* * *

That morning, it took a few moments' worth of puzzled staring for Gulcasa to remember why Nessiah was next to him in bed, and once he had, all he'd been able to do was shake his head and go on with waking up.

It had probably been a completely obscene hour when Nessiah had dragged himself into his room, and so there would be no waking him for a while. Gulcasa dragged the covers back up to his friend's shoulders, then went about stripping and digging for clean clothes. It was midmorning already, and there were plenty of things he had to do that wouldn't do themselves.

It was worth a look, and so he loped down the hall to peek into Nessiah's room—where it looked as though several books had exploded all across the desk and floor.

_More than my life is worth to start shuffling through all that._ He'd never be able to return the pages to their proper places, and even though it looked like chaos to him, Nessiah probably knew exactly where he'd left every single scrap of paper. Gulcasa would have to wait until Nessiah was done.

He wanted to ask, almost, if he could take a look at her papers once Nessiah was finished with them, but it was a little too late for gestures like that. She was gone, and searching through her things wouldn't restore the traces of her. If it was full of magical jargon, he wouldn't even be able to understand the notes in the first place.

And so he just closed the door and jogged down the stairs.

Emilia was standing in the parlor, wearing a dress he hadn't seen on her before that had a great multitude of thin lacy petticoats. There was a scroll in her arms that she was perusing.

"'Morning," he called to her.

"Oh—hi," she replied, looking up at him with a distracted expression as if she didn't quite remember the time or where she was standing. Her eyes cleared as he reached the floor, and she got that judging _look_ that always meant trouble. "You should pull your shirt down and button your pants. Like, especially if you're not wearing anything under them. Yggdra and Nessiah will have _heart attacks_ if they see you like that."

"Very funny." And damned if his breeches _weren't_ only half done up. He rectified the situation, hitched them up on his hips (they probably wouldn't stay there), and yanked the hem of his shirt down. "What have you got there?"

She made a noncommittal noise as she turned back down to the scroll. "It's a missive from Anise. There's another one from Sharminel I already looked at. They're reporting about some weirdos who've been sneaking around."

"You're gonna need to be more specific about the weirdos. It can't be any survivors of Pandra's lot, can it? I thought we already got them all."

"Yeah, well, if they didn't die when we won, they sure died when you hacked 'em up to make sure. No, it shouldn't be them."

"Do I hear you judging me?"

"Nope."

"They were _Pandra's_ little pieces of shit. And after what they did to Nessiah—"

"I know they deserved it. I don't think it's them though. Everybody knows what Pandra's guys are like, I think everybody in the country knows their flag, and Anise and Sharminel both got attacked by him before. There was no flag, just a bunch of guys in weird coats and hats sniffing around, they say."

Gulcasa shook his head and peered over Emilia's shoulder. "Weird coats and hats. I'm going to drown in all that description, we ought to order them to knock it off."

"You can read them yourself _after_ we eat and do our work," she said primly as she rolled up the scroll and held it out at him, and he knew better than to argue.

It was a clear day, if quite overcast. There was a decent breeze, and it was less humid than the previous week; Gulcasa thought he might smell a storm on the horizon but wasn't sure. The crops would probably welcome it if there were rain, but it would make working in Flarewerk entirely miserable.

The magic lessons might have to get hurried, too. Gulcasa squinted at the brightness and went to help at the shield grills for the sake of something to do with his hands.

Breakfast went without incident—everyone was sleepy-eyed, and Yggdra asked for Nessiah's whereabouts, nodding with a thoughtful expression as he replied to her.

A snatch of conversation from the other end of the table caught his attention, and he tilted his head to listen more clearly.

"—So I guess we're doin' this thing now?"

"That's no good, Milanor." This was Rosary's voice, and she sounded unusually authoritative now. "It'll have to wait until you get back—you're on construction today and I need to get done with Kylier _now, _I can smell ozone already."

"By which she means, it's going to rain," Roswell added calmly. "But is the storm really coming that fast?"

"Unluckily. Yeah, on this wind it'll be here mid-afternoon, so if there's any building happening it'd better happen soon." Kylier sounded equally authoritative, if a bit displeased. Gulcasa wasn't surprised. As a griffon rider, she needed to be able to read the weather; rainy conditions made for awkward flying.

"Tch." Milanor was silent after this.

"Well, the usual crowd will probably want to show up anyway."

"What _crowd?"_ Kylier sounded even less pleased.

"It's been a while since our last public pactio, and I'm sure there'll be curious throngs wanting to investigate. Bronquia hasn't seen the pactio fever yet, so what with word getting around (it always does) we might have our biggest crowd yet."

"I am _not _makin' out with her in front of a crowd," Milanor snapped, a distinct note of panic in his voice.

"I don't think you get a choice—you've been a member of that crowd before, anyway." Roswell's words were mild, but stern.

"What—are you worried people are gonna be judging your skill level?" It was rare to hear Kylier quite that wicked. Maybe Nessiah was rubbing off on her, too, not just Yggdra.

"Shut _up,"_ Milanor retorted, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Gulcasa shook his head and returned his attention to his plate. "Storms of spring," he remarked with a nod at the far end of the table—Emilia was watching him curiously.

"It's summer," she told him with a look on her face like she wanted to giggle.

"Means romance."

"As if you ever knew too much about _that?"_

"One day," he told her, "you will run into someone and not know what to do with yourself over them, and then it will be _our_ turn to give _you_ superior looks."

Before she could retort, he stood up and headed back over to the grill; maybe there were eggs now. He could do with a little bit of scrambled egg alongside the meat and vegetables he'd already eaten.

* * *

Not long after that, the construction crew went off, Yggdra with them today. Rosary dragged a scowling Kylier off toward the fields. Gulcasa helped clean up the tables, and scratched at the scars that were starting to itch—the rain couldn't be far off—before heading to the stables.

He gave apples to the horses, jerky to the dragons, and found Emilia in the corner looking after the grifflets, which were by now about the size of small dogs.

She gave him the missives, and told him that he ought to get new pants if all the pairs he had couldn't stay up right, which he ignored as he left the building.

Under the sunlight, he unrolled the scroll from Sharminel and squinted at the writing. And sighed. As usual, the heralds' handwriting was _tiny. _He'd need the light—which wasn't going to last long—or a pair of glasses to make most of this out, unless someone was around who'd present it for him aloud.

Just as he snapped the scroll shut with another sigh, he caught sight of Nessiah standing on the sloped mansion roof from the corner of his eye. On their own, his feet slowed and stopped, and he stood watching as Nessiah rose up on tiptoe with a faint sound of glass clattering on glass as wings spiraled out of his back.

With no more warning, he jumped and fell, all spread wings and white limbs and floating skirts, a bolt of white and gold against the leaden sky. Nessiah's landing was light, and he bent only slightly before standing up, turning in Gulcasa's direction.

"You missed breakfast," Gulcasa called, his feet picking up again and carrying him toward the building.

"So I gathered." The wings added a good bit of bulk to Nessiah's silhouette, but he was still awfully short once they were both on flat ground. "I also seem to have missed everyone's departure."

"Well, it's going to rain as far as we can tell, so everyone wanted to get business over with as much as they could. And actually, you woke up at a good time. You can look these over for me."

"Is that laziness I detect?" Nessiah was wearing an expression that said he wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

"They write so goddamn _tiny,"_ Gulcasa protested, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "C'mon. I'll make you breakfast, even."

"No need to tempt me, I was hoping for a break anyway." Here Nessiah stopped to stare up at the sky with his brow furrowed, the teal of his eyes awash with light. "And there's no use enjoying the outdoors if it's going to rain."

"…It's not going well?"

Nessiah turned to him and looked away again. "It's just getting a bit frustrating. I can't stay on it right now or I'm going to be in a worse mood than Kylier soon."

"Well, you probably shouldn't be flying right now anyway. Even _if_ everyone's already at work, there's still the chance you'd flash someone."

He went red instantly (and Gulcasa still wasn't quite used to seeing Nessiah blush without his mask obscuring it) and glared like a wet cat. "I don't want to hear that from _you_ when the waistline of your pants is far enough down to advertise half your backside."

Gulcasa swore and glanced down—but it transpired that Nessiah had been exaggerating. "It's not _that_ bad."

"It's enough for me to tell that you've got naught on beneath those, so you ought to at least wear a belt or something." Nessiah had folded his arms, the picture of nonchalance—or he would have been if he wasn't pointedly staring off into the distance, red-faced and nearly sulking.

"It's safe to look."

Nessiah's eyes flicked back to him for a moment, and then away. "Shall we just agree not to complain about each other's choices of clothing?"

"Yeah, especially if you actually want me to make you any goddamn breakfast."

Nessiah shrugged, and they started on their way back towards the house—and then Gulcasa realized.

"Wait a minute," he said, and when Nessiah paused, Gulcasa reached to tilt his chin up, staring.

Nessiah went red as anything immediately, and the contrast in color was enough to convince Gulcasa that he hadn't been imagining it. "What are you _doing?!"_

"Why have your eyes changed color?"

Nessiah stopped trying to shake his hands off and frowned. "What?"

"They were blue. Back when you first started being able to do this, I swear they were blue. They're—well, still _kind of_ blue, but they're a completely different shade now. Greener."

"Very descriptive," Nessiah said, and sighed. Gulcasa could feel his breath warm against the inside of his own wrist, and tried not to let it distract him.

"Well, as long as you're not changing back when we go back inside I can show you."

Nessiah didn't seem averse to that, and so they continued on their way. The wind was beginning to pick up, and if the general ache of his oldest scars hadn't already convinced him, the smell of distant rain was more than enough.

"Hopefully Kylier and Rosary are finished for today. If there are any more magical hiccups, then it could get a little bit _interesting_ out in the rain," Nessiah remarked, glancing over his shoulder at the fields as Gulcasa pushed the door open.

"I'll settle for construction at Flarewerk not getting too miserable. We don't need any more Fantasinian drama here."

_"Gulcasa."_

"Well, what do you want?" he retorted, equal parts defensive and amused. "All that bickering, all the time. _My _army has never been like that; even Leon was never that bad." Remembering hurt—the old sensation of the grief spreading out from the middle of his breastbone—but it was still warm.

"That's the difference between being thrown together by circumstance and _choosing_ to sign on to something for you," Nessiah told him in a very reasonable tone. "There's also the fact that that lot have only been together for a little less than a year; give them time and I'm sure they'll settle down eventually. …You also can't ignore the fact that the twins are our greatest suppliers of drama bar Kylier, now that—Roswell and Rosary are… getting along again."

He just couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, the nature of the falling-out between Nessiah and Roswell had been, but Gulcasa knew to hold his peace. "Well, bad blood. I'm not sure anything is _ever_ going to convince Luciana to like Yggdra. Hell, if she ever starts to, I bet she'll keep throwing fits over her out of stubbornness."

Nessiah laughed at that, and the two of them mounted the stairs.

Halfway up, Gulcasa stopped still and sighed.

"…Is something wrong?"

"All of a sudden I miss everyone," he said.

Nessiah didn't reply. He avoided Gulcasa's eyes and leaned on the stair banister, looking out over the parlor with his eyes half-closed and his wings hunched and mantled.

Gulcasa reached out and rested a hand on the middle of Nessiah's back, between the joints of his wings. "If it could be called anyone's fault—it's mine."

He felt the muscles tense under his hand, and Nessiah turned very slightly. His eyes were piercing. "It isn't your fault at all. They themselves would never blame you."

Gulcasa considered saying that sometimes he wanted them to, but remained silent. Nessiah shook off his hand, then grasped it tightly in his own.

They continued up the stairs in silence.

Upon entering his room, Gulcasa pointed Nessiah towards the mirror and then navigated his way around the bed to the dresser, digging for a belt. He was getting rather tired of having to deal with people commenting on the state of his pants. Did they really not have _anything_ better to worry about?

"That _is_ interesting," Nessiah said from the other side of the room. When Gulcasa turned to look at him, he was frowning at his reflection.

If Nessiah was noticing it too, then it couldn't just be in his head. "Your eyes were always the same color as Yggdra's and the twins'. If they changed all of a sudden like this—what does it mean?"

Nessiah continued staring at his reflection and frowning.

"The thing is that before I was blinded, I actually had green eyes," he explained in a slow and musing sort of voice. "I had wondered, a little, as to why they were blue. I think that the current form of my Artifact may be incomplete."

"Huh?"

"It happens, sometimes. In a few pactio contracts, the ministel or ministra is unable to resolve the Artifact at full strength to begin with. No one knows why—and the documented cases all seem to have different causes. A psychological block on one side of the pairing, or an inability to physically compensate for the toll the Artifact takes. Right now, I'm able to maintain my body in its original state, with about as much power I had before I was chosen for—before."

"Chosen for what?"

Nessiah shook his head unhappily. "I—I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. I don't think I can do it yet." In the mirror, his face was very pale.

Gulcasa swallowed impatience, took a deep breath, and let it out. "Okay. But you think the spell should have a different effect, or what?"

"Certainly the time I can use it is lengthening. And once I've mastered it well enough, I may even be able to make use of my full power." Nessiah lifted his hands and looked at them gloomily. "My powers were very great, before I was stripped of them. They would have returned if I'd—if I could have had the Gran Centurio. It wouldn't have made me physically whole again, but I could at least have been rid of those bonds."

And his immortality, as well. Impulsively, Gulcasa went back around the bed in large strides, wrapping both arms around Nessiah's body.

"It's okay. There's—not much use in wishing anymore. We just have to make do with what we've got, in the end."

"I don't fancy trying to speculate as to which of us that will be harder for," Nessiah murmured. If he was uncomfortable being held when his wings were out, he wasn't squirming against it; instead he leaned back against Gulcasa's chest and closed his eyes. "Anyway, we'll know when the spell is at full performance once my eyes are back to their original color."

"Hmm." It was just a little bit strange to think of. He'd always been sure that Nessiah's eyes had been blue, originally. Was it just that the contract had been with Roswell that they had that color? Or was it more like babies, and how their eyes were blue for a little bit before they changed into their natural shade?

Nessiah tugged at his shirt. "Gulcasa?"

"Yeah?" He'd opened his eyes again, and was staring up through pale lashes and the mess of his hair. Once they'd changed all the way, would they be bright apple green like Cruz's eyes, or the more subdued color Velleman's had been? Would they just resolve themselves as the bright aquamarine of Siskier's instead?

"I was told there would be breakfast," Nessiah said, and Gulcasa couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you were. Come on."

* * *

Gulcasa handed the two missives off to Nessiah gratefully, then dug out ingredients. As he dumped flour, sugar, and spices into a bowl, cracking eggs into the mess, Nessiah sat on the table with his feet on the seat of a chair and read through them silently.

"So Emilia tells me that there are strange people lurking around the edges of Anise and Sharminel—strange people in, as she puts it, 'weird coats and hats'. Please tell me that the actual missives are a little more descriptive and she was paraphrasing instead of quoting directly."

"They're a _little_ more descriptive, at least. Enough that I don't like what I'm reading."

Gulcasa dug for a whisk. "You can say that again. I am getting really sick of having to deal with the ten opportunistic shits left in my country. At least we'll have an excuse to go punch them if they do anything too obvious."

"I don't think their objective is to cause trouble in Bronquia _specifically."_

He really didn't like the way Nessiah was saying that. "But it's still a problem, right?"

"Yes. It sounds like Servants' uniforms to me."

Gulcasa frowned at the pancake mix and thought about the man who'd interrupted their battle with Marietta, then of Nessiah's friend's attendant. They _had_ been wearing weird coats and hats, come to think of it.

"What in the fuck would they be doing here, though? I was hoping we'd convinced that Marietta girl to beat it when you kicked her ass last time."

"I don't know, but I don't like it. We may want to dispatch Zilva and Elena to do a little counter-espionage…"

"Definitely a good idea. I'll get them together tonight and talk to them about it—probably have to ask Yggdra too, since Elena technically doesn't report to me anymore." The batter was about as stirred as it was going to be, so Gulcasa reached for the pantry and withdrew a pair of banangoes and a knife. "…There was another thing, though. Your friend Celina said while you were getting Roswell's medicine that Marietta is still angry about you beating her, and that she'd take any excuse to go another round."

Behind him, Nessiah exhaled slowly. "…I'd hoped that wouldn't happen. There is one good thing about Restoratus gaining power—if I have to reattempt defeating her so soundly that all the battles between us have been won, it should certainly be easier to do with closer to my full power than I can currently wield."

"Until then I suppose we just have to keep our noses clean, or at least as much as we can." He peeled one of the fruits and cut it into thick coins, then dumped them into the batter. "Pain in the ass."

"At least the reports are recent. It shouldn't take long to get Zilva and Elena in position—we can have Emilia and Kylier deliver them under cover of night."

"Good idea. While I'm finishing up here, read the reports out verbatim."

Nessiah complied, and Gulcasa listened.

The intruders hadn't ever gone into the towns, at least—they'd just been spotted lurking around the borders. Sharminel, as a walled-in mountain city, was understandably more unnerved about this than Anise, although inhabitants of both were worried. No one knew how many men there were, but no more than two or three had ever been spotted simultaneously.

By the time Nessiah was finished with both scrolls, Gulcasa was frowning at the pancakes he flipped, glaring at the stove.

"…Gulcasa, what is it?"

If Nessiah could tell that something was wrong without even looking at his face, there was no use hiding it. "I wonder if I shouldn't go instead."

"Gulcasa."

"These bastards are scaring my people." The missives had been polite, but the voices behind the manners were obviously frightened. "Just sending out the Special Forces to scout isn't doing much to reassure them. If I go to them, then they'll know everything is going to be all right."

"Gulcasa." Nessiah spoke his name very gently. "It isn't wise to go there openly, to advertise that we know we're being watched. Tensions could rise even further if we suddenly head to those towns—they're pretty out of our way. And certainly, we could make excuses for sending people openly to both places, but the people will make a beeline for our envoys. It would be better to leave things to Zilva and Elena—to have them pass on a message from you to the mayors, who can address the people quietly."

"I know. It's just…" He couldn't find the right words, and just shook his head.

"It's just that you love them so much that there's no helping it," Nessiah supplied.

Gulcasa nodded.

"You're the best emperor this country has ever had. And you can trust my word—I've seen them all come and go, after all."

That was too embarrassing to reply to, so Gulcasa just flipped the pancakes one last time and set them out on plates. He set them both on the table (Nessiah slid down into a chair without being told), and ducked into the next room to dump the used dishes into a bucket of water for washing.

When he came back, Nessiah was already half done with the pancakes, lounging in the chair with the expression of a cat in the sun.

"You are also the best cook I've ever known."

"I've been working at _that_ for a quarter of my life, so I'll happily take the compliment." Gulcasa shook his head and started eating his own share.

They were silent but for the sounds of utensils on the plates. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and then the faint patter of rain.

When Nessiah finished, he pushed his chair back and stood up, lightly flexing his wings. The individual pinions spread out and came back together; Gulcasa just watched wonderingly. What kind of delicate motor control did that take?

"Thank you," Nessiah told him and smiled. "I think I'll return to my rooms. There has got to be _something_ in that woman's notes that can help you."

Gulcasa rested against the back of his chair. "Aren't they of any use then?"

Nessiah shook his head and stared briefly at the ceiling. "Let's just say that your mother was in many ways a misguided woman. She was an intelligent researcher, though, and I am certain that her legacy will be able to help you somehow."

"I'm lucky to have you."

His friend's face went a light shade of pink, and Nessiah turned away. "I don't see how."

"Then that just proves you've still got some blind spots."

"Very funny." Nessiah smiled a bit and shook his head, then headed for the doorway.

Gulcasa watched him, then leaned back until his chair stood on its back legs and called out.

"So just what shade of green were your eyes, anyway?"

Nessiah laid his hand on the doorframe and paused. It looked for a moment like his fingers were shaking; Gulcasa wondered if he'd imagined it.

"You remember the original Gran Centurio, correct?" The angel's voice was very casual. It felt calculated; it felt wrong somehow. "The same shade as the pommel stone."

Gulcasa did remember it—the battle with Ordene had been a long one, and he'd fought Yggdra more than enough times. That jewel, unlike the one on Yggdra's duplicate, had looked almost disturbingly similar to a real eye.

"Nessiah. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it sounds like," Nessiah replied with that same kind of measured calm, and then he walked away.

Gulcasa turned back around. He stared steadily at the surface of the table until the sky began to darken.


	29. Spectator in the Garden

Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

The air still smelled thickly of thunder and water, though it wasn't raining, and it was cold—even considering that it was brutally early in the morning. Kylier sighed and tried not to shiver, leaning low over the griffon's shoulders.

On Yggdra and Gulcasa's request, she was flying Elena out to a town called Anise she'd never been to. She'd been given a map of Bronquia to study, but while she was confident that she could make it back to the village as long as she could locate Flarewerk (which was a really damn obvious city), she was mostly relying on Elena's directions to know where that town was.

Apparently there were people—Servants from Asgard maybe—sniffing around for reasons unknown. That was what they'd said. Kylier wondered how Nessiah felt about this, and she also wondered how many stupid things would be getting in the way and keeping her and Milanor from actually making that pactio now that they'd decided to do it.

Storms, and then this mission, with more storms on the way—it was just so _frustrating._ Trying to schedule things so that there wouldn't really be a crowd, too.

She should be glad that she didn't have Emilia's job, though. The kid princess was carrying Zilva over to a mountain town so high up that it'd be bitchy cold even now in the summer. There seemed to be creepy people investigating that town too.

"We're almost there," Elena said suddenly, and Kylier nodded, tugging on the griffon's reins to get it to start sweeping in for a landing.

The town of Anise was on the edge of a thick forest, but the ground around it was flat enough for Kylier to land easily.

"I'll be sending back reports regularly until the matter is resolved," Elena said as she dismounted. Then she bowed and scurried off.

Kylier waved to the other girl and squeezed the griffon's flanks between her knees.

For a moment she thought she felt eyes on her back, but when she turned to look, nobody was actually there.

* * *

"No, no, and once again no. Take a breath, sit and meditate or something while I go dismantle this, it's going to take a while."

Kylier sat, crossed her legs, and fumed. Nessiah went about their circle, talking under his breath and flicking fingers in different directions. The air shimmered in faint curtains; she couldn't look at it for very long, knowing that it would just give her a headache.

"Tell me what's so wrong about what I just did. I got the freaking candles to light, didn't I?"

"What's _wrong_ is that you're all over the place _again._ Your magic is escaping your control, and you were about to start a much larger fire than just a candle flame." Nessiah stopped pacing around the edge of the circle. Kylier could see that he was starting to worry the sleeves of his robes with his fingers; that and his closed-off expression were clear signs of agitation. "Clear your mind. We're going to try this a few more times, and then we're going back."

Kylier growled to herself. "You're so preachy about this stuff, jeez. And look at you—you're all mad now, so why don't you have to worry about control and stuff?"

"I do. But I have proper schooling and I'm used to it, so my power doesn't run away with my moods. If you studied magic for a thousand years, it would be second nature to you too."

She couldn't really argue with that. Because of their closeness she tended to forget, but every now and again Nessiah reminded her like now that he was technically a magical genius.

"This is your fault," she complained aloud, not wanting him to pick up on her logical disconnect. "I can still remember my imprint of your memories pretty well, and for you things always seemed so _easy._ Why isn't it easy for me?"

"First of all—magical combat is a thing that I was born to do; you could say that I was created for specifically that purpose. I studied from a young age and became _too_ capable. And when it comes to the Power of Words, I always had the talent, I just had to barter for the knowledge and ability to use it—which I received instantaneously as part of the contract. They became a part of me, as if they always had been, in place of my sacrifice. Everything after that was all study or innovation."

"Lucky asshole."

Nessiah shifted his weight. Even though the motion was obscured by his mask, she could see him wrinkle his nose slightly at her. "Dear, I highly doubt that you would want to make the sacrifices I had to for my power. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mock me by saying things like that—you may not realize from just one glimpse at my memory how long that took, how painful it was, and how frightening an experience it was.

"At the time I was desperate, but if I had studied for lifetimes I would have come into that power on my own. And _you_ will learn control if you can actually get serious about it."

When he put it like that, she couldn't help actually feeling a bit bad about it. "…Sorry."

Nessiah smiled thinly. "At least there's one thing that you needn't ever worry about. No one would dream of trying to force you into magical study at this rate—you have talent, but the way you think isn't suited for a life of magecraft."

Being told that she couldn't do anything was annoying, of course, but Nessiah was only sniping at her like this because she'd managed to strike a nerve. Irritation and shame warred in Kylier's chest, bubbling up in a grimace. "…Yeah, yeah, I know _that_ perfectly well. Can we just get this stupid lesson over with?"

"I do have to get back to my own research, but since we're already here and all—" That thin smile broadened. "We may as well just stay here until you can get it right, don't you think?"

"…Jeez, there's no helping this part of you, is there? Get it out of your system now, I guess."

"Kylier, I don't believe that you're in the position right now to be speaking as if it's anyone's fault but your own."

Things would only get worse if she argued back, so Kylier sighed and held her tongue.

* * *

The sky was turning colors by the time Nessiah finally deemed Kylier's performance satisfactory. They trooped back to the town an arm and a half's length apart from each other: Him pensive, her sweating and frazzled.

"Not perfect, but it's definitely something to be getting on with," he remarked at last, the first words he'd spoken to her since nodding and saying they could return. "I keep telling you that this is all a matter of your mindset. Once you get over your own self-constructed roadblocks, this should be much easier for you."

Irritable remarks instantly sprang to mind, but Kylier held her tongue. She didn't want to be kept out for another impromptu extra lesson all through the storm, after all.

"This is like trying to teach Gulcasa all over again." Nessiah's tone was long-suffering and forlorn, his voice dropped to something like a mutter. "Only you're impatient for the exact opposite reasons he was. I can't tell how much of the blame should lie on my teaching skills and how much falls with your lack of student mentality. Goodness, this is so much easier with Yggdra."

"Well, she looks at things like you do, right? Of course it's easier with _her."_

The words had come out all on their own. Kylier had already started to wonder if she ought to be cursing her inability to keep her mouth shut when Nessiah turned slightly to face her. His expression was arranged in something not quite a frown.

"Do you know, I believe you may be on to something with that thought."

"…Uh, I'm not sure I follow."

"Roswell and Rosary are scholars, and I am an artist," Nessiah said slowly, tapping a thin forefinger against his cheek in time with his steps. "You are neither of these things. You have magical potential, even if you've not trained it before. That means that the magic is a natural part of you, as much as your hands and your eyes. There isn't only one sanctioned way to use one's power, Kylier. Even though our approach is similar, just looking at myself and your other two tutors should be enough to prove that. Perhaps we're making it more difficult for you to see the worth in magic by the way that we present it."

They were already at the town perimeter. Kylier tried to stifle a roll of the eyes: Nessiah was her best friend and she loved him, but she really wished he didn't love the sound of his own voice quite so much.

"I don't suppose you could get to the point before we reach the mansion?" she ventured, and Nessiah tilted his head at her like he didn't know what she could possibly mean.

"I'm getting there, if you would only be patient." Nessiah exhaled in a put-upon sort of manner. "If you think about things rationally, most people use some form of magic in their day-to-day lives. My Tactics Cards have been fairly thoroughly absorbed into human culture on this continent, and aside from that, just how many of our number have just a touch of the gift, or a magical Artifact? They don't devote their lives to studying magic or changing the way it will work forever. It means something personal and distinct to each of them.

"Therefore, it follows that you simply must discover what magic can be to you—other than something you need to get a handle on for the safety of everyone in your immediate vicinity. Try consulting with the others; I have confidence that you'll be able to find something if you put your mind to it."

"Chat up everyone else?" Kylier couldn't help but grin, just a little. "Ask _everyone_ we know for their personal dissertation on magic in the life of the average citizen?"

Nessiah made a soft, disparaging noise that might've been considered a snort if produced by a lesser being. "No, you endearingly brick-headed frustration of a girl. If you ask your friends what magic means to each of them, and then _use_ that brain of yours for a bit, you may be able to find something worthwhile in it for yourself. There aren't easy answers, so don't go looking for a quick solution.

"And—I should at least apologize for what I said earlier. Just because you and I wouldn't use magecraft the same way doesn't make you unsuited to practice it."

Kylier blinked at him. Far away, the sky rumbled.

"I think the reason you and I are friends is because of times like now, when you take a break from being an insufferable douchebag to say things that are worth listening to," she told him, nodding a little as she scratched at her chin. "I think maybe I will do that—talking to people, I mean. And I appreciate the apology."

Nessiah bowed his head a little. The motion looked weirdly formal, and made his chains clank together dully.

"Now, if that's settled—" he laced his fingers together, stretched his arms out before him and flexed his hands until they cracked— "I really must get back to my rooms, as I need to get back to the important task of filtering through the research diaries of a dead bigot in hopes of discovering something that might be of use."

His smile was decidedly grim. Kylier shrugged.

"No easy answers," she reminded him.

"Don't I know it," he said flatly.

Kylier held out a hand. Nessiah slapped at it, making for the world's most distracted attempt at a high-five, and then he was off for the mansion. The sky rumbled again. Kylier could feel tiny raindrops starting to come down like pins made of mist pricking her skin, and she pushed herself into a run so that she could get to the stables before the downpour hit.

* * *

Yggdra was in the hall, sorting papers and looking rather bored. Kylier made sure that her footsteps made noise so that her presence wouldn't come as a surprise, sidled up to her friend, and gestured at Yggdra's work.

"Want help with some of that?"

Yggdra glanced up and smiled. It was a tired sort of smile. "Yes, please." She scooted over on the bench, giving Kylier room to sit down.

"So what's all this?"

Yggdra pushed her hair behind her ear. "Reports, mostly. I have several different sources in the courts and on the streets about how things are going in different sections of Fantasinia—and some reports from Embellia, and Verlaine, and Lombardia too, because my country has war reparations to check on. We contributed to the mess, even if that's nowhere near as severe as here in the empire. Once they're sorted, I can read them through later, and pass them around to the other people who are concerned, like Roswell and Rosary."

Kylier whistled a little. "Look at you, being all responsible and queenly. But," she looked around the table and bench, "this sure seems like a lot of work for one person."

"It is," Yggdra said, "or at least it still feels like it is. I know that my father had a similar workload sometimes, because there were certain areas that weren't even Fantasinian territory that depended on our army to protect them from bandits and pirates in exchange for goods." She shuffled papers, tapped them on the table to straighten them. For a moment she looked like Nessiah, and Kylier couldn't help a private sad smile. "I shouldn't be complaining too much, though."

"Well, why's that? There's no workload that a little bitching doesn't lighten," Kylier said, and Yggdra gave a soft, self-deprecating little laugh.

"Because," Yggdra said, smiling, "this isn't near the load of paperwork Gulcasa deals with on a daily basis. You could fit Fantasinia and all its allies into Bronquia's territory and still have room left over."

"Wow," Kylier said at length. She neatened up a pile, casting for something to say. "Then again, he has got more experience than you."

"When he was my age and first took over," Yggdra said mildly, "he could barely even read. According to Aegina, at least, who says that she and Luciana had to help Nessiah tutor him because Gulcasa wouldn't let anyone else pick up the slack."

Kylier whistled. "I know you and Nessiah like him an awful lot, and he's a pretty nice guy now we're all on friendlier terms, but I've got to say—I don't think his head's screwed on quite right."

Yggdra made an understanding noise. "Can you even imagine? It's amazing; I don't think I could compare. I want to have that level of skill someday."

Kylier wanted to say something about how their circumstances were different—yeah, they'd both assumed the throne after a lot of conflict and had to pick up a bunch of mess, but that the mess was different in nature and the way they'd learned how to handle conflict was different too—but Yggdra probably already knew that. So she made a face, then grinned. "Maybe I should get Luciana and Aegina to help tutor Milanor too."

There was a rustle of paper as Yggdra let out a very unqueenly snort and then began to giggle. "Goodness, I can only imagine what a disaster that would be! I would feel too sorry for Milanor."

"But it would be hilarious," said Kylier.

"It would be," Yggdra agreed, hiding her smile with her papers. "We're awful friends, laughing over his hypothetical torment like this."

Kylier scratched at the base of her jaw, shrugged, grinned again. "Maybe so. Milanor's got a thick skin, though. He does better with adversity, even if 'adversity' has to be his lady friends taking the mickey out of him every now and then."

Yggdra giggled. "With us, it's more like _always."_

"That's true." Kylier nodded and bit her lip to suppress the smile that was bubbling up. "Poor Milanor."

"I haven't seen him today," Yggdra said thoughtfully. "Kylier, do you know where he's holed himself up?"

"I'm pretty sure today he's been pitching hay and mucking stables with Emilia," Kylier replied. "Shorty promised to work him hard, so I don't think I'm gonna go bother him until we're both less frazzled. We'll wind up fighting over something stupid again."

Yggdra hmm-ed in sympathy. "And how are the magic lessons going?"

Kylier had been waiting for a chance to segue into the topic naturally, but since Yggdra had gone ahead and asked anyhow, there was no point in not going ahead. She explained the discussion she and Nessiah had had and the assignment he'd given her.

"So, I guess this is the part where I ask you what magic means to you, little miss honor student," she said.

There was a pleased flush on Yggdra's face, and she clapped her hands to her cheeks, still holding the papers. "Wait just a moment. I need to savor this a little, Nessiah doesn't ever compliment me to my face like that. He really said I'm a good student?"

"He was comparing you to me, though," Kylier said, a little dubious. Yggdra shook her head.

"Shush. A compliment is a compliment, especially from him. Now." She set the papers down, played with her hair a bit. "What magic means to me. Do you know, now that you're asking me that so directly, I'm not sure how I should answer. After all, we both made a pactio for necessity's sake, to begin with. Nessiah says I should use my Artifact to assist me with statecraft in tense meetings and such, but I'm not sure if I could do that without it becoming something of a mess. We still might squeak through without having to panic the continent with news of our trouble with Asgard, after all."

Kylier leaned an arm on the table and listened. Yggdra wasn't looking at her; she was twisting a tuft of her hair around and around her finger while staring off into a corner. "I suppose it's also become a means of self-defense. I take my oath to never wield a sword again seriously; I wouldn't unless I had no other choice. And I'm terrible at hand-to-hand combat, I'm too used to holding weapons."

Finally, Yggdra folded her hands in her lap and shrugged. She was smiling when her gaze flicked back to Kylier. "I like the flexibility of magic, though. Weapons and combat skills can be treated as art forms, but really they're only good for killing people. Magic isn't only a tool for killing—you can heal people with it, and accomplish any number of small convenient things. Though," she said with a laugh creeping into her voice, "somehow I doubt that I'll be rising above the 'small convenient things' level of skill for some time. I don't have as much potential as you."

Kylier thought about that. "If we could switch, would you?"

Yggdra grimaced. "It's pointless to think about those things, and be jealous of each other. This isn't like society—with innate abilities, you can't change what you've been given. You can only do what you can with what you have. And that's what I mean to do."

"That's smart," Kylier said, nodding.

Yggdra smiled at her, kind of pained, and shrugged. "It's what I tell myself to head off my own what-ifs. I might be able to do a lot for my country if I were a grand magician like Roswell or Rosary or Nessiah, but I'm not. I'm only me. I have other tools to use at my disposal."

Kylier considered this.

"Then—would you say that magic is something you want to use for the good of others?"

Yggdra cocked her head to the side. She smiled. "Yes, I think you could say that."

They both turned back towards the papers then, because somehow or other the conversation had turned into a Moment. The air always seemed to get a little awkward when that happened.

"Oh, these are Elena's reports from Anise," Yggdra said out loud. "I suppose she duplicated them for me and for Gulcasa, though I can't say I'm that familiar with Bronquia's topography or anything, so I don't know how much use I'll be with this."

"She does her job thoroughly, I guess," Kylier replied. "Wait, if Elena's reports are here, does that mean Elena's back already then?"

Yggdra nodded. "She just got in last night. Apparently she did what she could and then decided she might as well head back. Zilva is still in Sharminel, I believe."

Kylier hummed a little in response. After that, they didn't talk much other than little back-and-forths specifically about how best to sort the papers.

They'd finished in twenty minutes, and Kylier stood up immediately. Yggdra stayed seated, flexing her hands in another little gesture that looked much like Nessiah's.

"If you're going to keep on your homework assignment," Yggdra said with a smile, "I think Elena should be in or around the kitchens."

"Thanks," Kylier said.

"Thank _you_ for helping," Yggdra told her, smile broadening. "That took half the time it should have, thanks to you. Now I can actually get working on these, and be finished in time to help out with other chores."

"Good luck with that," Kylier replied. They waved to each other as she left.

* * *

Elena was not, as it transpired, in or around the kitchens. Gulcasa was helming them instead, looking thoroughly happy and in his element with something like three or four dishes in progress. Nessiah was with him—leaned over the table with his head on his arms. Sleeping, Kylier discovered as she approached, with an overcoat that looked like Gulcasa's draped over his shoulders.

When Kylier asked where Elena was, Gulcasa reported that he'd nudged her out because he'd wanted to play with food for the relaxation factor, and that she should have shifted around to some other kind of chore.

Tactful of her, Kylier thought—Gulcasa had been wound tight about the Anise and Sharminel thing since the reports had come in, and he'd been sending worried and/or perplexed stares at Nessiah when he didn't think anyone was watching. But here in the kitchen, his smile was easy and his hair was bundled up behind his shoulders, making him look warm and amiable.

But that was Elena all over. She was quiet, yeah, and she could be worryingly self-effacing, but overall she always did what she could for people.

Kylier thanked Gulcasa and headed for the door. On her way out, she watched him adjust Nessiah's makeshift blanket and touch his shoulder with a kind of great tenderness.

They looked like a young married couple, she thought, intimate and easy with each other with none of the embarrassment of newlyweds. Gulcasa and Yggdra were aware of each other in ways that Gulcasa didn't seem consciously aware of Nessiah, but he had a casual physicality with Nessiah that he didn't have with anybody else.

It was anybody's game, still, but sometimes it made Kylier a little melancholic to think about. That was a hazard of being friends with everybody in a love triangle. Someone was probably going to come out of this really sad. They'd get over it—it wouldn't be the end of their world—but even though Kylier wasn't half the idealist Yggdra was, she still wished that everyone could just be happy.

She stuffed hands in her pockets, walked down the hall, and turned the corner to find Elena hanging wet laundry on a drying rack, a tarp laid out on the floor to catch the drips.

"'Sup," said Kylier. Elena glanced over her shoulder and smiled.

"I'll be finished in a moment, Lady Kylier," she said.

Kylier pushed her sleeves up. "Nah, lemme help, we can talk while we hang stuff." She picked a shirt up out of the basket of washed stuff. "Also, you don't have to be so formal with me."

Elena smiled with an apologetic curve to her eyebrows. Both of them knew it was pretty much useless to try to keep Elena from being as polite as possible. Honestly, after hanging out with Nessiah—whose formality always had a dishonest kind of sharpness to it—talking to Elena was refreshing.

"So what brings you down here of all places on a day like today?" Elena asked, flapping out somebody's pair of pants.

"Bored, mostly," Kylier replied. "Also, Nessiah gave me homework."

"Ah," Elena said. There was a moment of silence as they juggled a wet quilt between the two of them, experimenting as to how best to hang it up. "It's a shame the weather is so foul; these will dry well enough inside, but if we could have hung them up outdoors they'd smell of sunshine once they were finished."

This was a very Bronquian thing to say, and was also very like Elena. Kylier nodded.

"True, but it's better than leaving the laundry unwashed until whenever all this clears up." It had been raining off and on for a long while, and Kylier was fair sick of it interfering with all her life plans. She'd caught Emilia expressing similar sentiments. Maybe riding griffons just gave you an automatic long grudge against the elements.

"That is very true," Elena agreed. "What was your 'homework'?"

"Interviews," Kylier said, and launched into much the same explanation she'd given Yggdra.

Elena set a long finger to her chin and paused in her work once Kylier was done. At last, she said, "I'm by no means a mage, of course—my experience with magic is limited to my own Artifact and its workings."

"I think that's why it's important to talk to you, though," Kylier said. "After all, that's closest to what I knew about magic up until really recently."

Elena smiled a little and began picking up laundry again.

"Then, my magic—well, there is only one thing that my magic can accomplish, then, and that is taking away the wills of others. It can have other side effects, and perhaps if I practice for long enough I will be able to induce them of my own will," Elena let her gaze fall, a long sweep of black lashes, and looked back up: The deep violet of her eyes was arresting, "but I don't wish to. I'm immune to those effects as the wielder, but my magic could kill if I miscalculate its use. It's a tool for battle, Lady Kylier. When there is no more battle, I will have no more need for my magic.

"But as long as there is battle—then I'll use this tool I've been given, and gladly. I want to protect what I hold dear to me, and at least this time… I can be proud of myself for my decision."

She probably wouldn't ever forgive herself for betraying her people, Kylier thought. She at least had more sensitivity than Milanor, and wouldn't try to tell Elena how to feel. She couldn't pretend she knew everything about the situation, either; a couple glimpses of Nessiah's memories wasn't enough to tell her whether Elena had been right or wrong to decide her brother had to be stopped.

The Black Knight she'd met on the battlefield time and time again had had screws loose, that was for sure. It was also a fact that even now Gulcasa spoke of Leon with love—and that Gulcasa was sometimes more prone to forgiveness where others wouldn't be.

It was messy. Kylier knew she couldn't make it right. All she could do was offer what support she could from the sidelines, and hope that would be of help. Just like with the melodramatic love troubles that kept raining down like dominoes.

"Has that been able to be of any help, milady?" Elena asked, and Kylier snapped back to the present.

"Hmm," she said. "Actually—yeah. I think I've started to see kind of a pattern."

Elena tilted her head, and Kylier took that as an invitation to elaborate. She rolled her shoulders back in preparation to speak.

"So like, everybody we know who uses magic has a reason to do it. A reason to want to do it. Roswell and Rosary, well, they've been raised for it, magic is their family business and it's their way of life. Pamela's kinda wacko about it, but she studies stuff, so she uses her magic for that. Flone's a healer, magic does for her what bandages and medicine can't. Nessiah, bless the man's prissy heart, is an _arteest." _Elena covered a guilty-looking giggle. Kylier grinned, happy to receive the intended reaction. "Yggdra is interested in magic because she wants a power that isn't innately destructive. You're interested in magic as far as it'll help you with our current situation.

"And applying that to me, my problem is that I'm not actually getting anything from magic yet. There might actually be something that magic can do for me, but I don't know what that is. I can fight with my weapon just fine, and I'd only think to light a candle with magic if there weren't any matches anywhere. Anything I might think to do with magic, I can already do with my own two hands—or with my Artifact. I'd _rather_ do it with my own two hands.

"As long as I feel that way, magic's just gonna keep being an unpleasant chore. If I'm going to study, I'll have to find something to study that will let me do something I can't ordinarily accomplish that's connected to something I love."

Elena shook out a dress and hung it on the drying rack, wearing a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps there's a branch of magic to do with the weather and nature that could help you with tasks as a rider? Or one that involves animal medicine, to assist with griffon care."

"Yeah, maybe." Kylier couldn't really imagine anything like that, but when Elena said so, it felt like it might be a possibility. "I guess I'll have to ask Nessiah or somebody and find out."

She picked up a sheet, then hesitated with it in her hands. "Actually, speaking of the weather, I don't hear the rain anymore."

Elena dusted off her hands. "Perhaps it's stopped?"

"Yeah, we should go see if it's sunny enough out to hang the rest of the laundry out there. It'll dry faster that way, too."

The two of them ducked out of the back room and headed down the hall to the main entrance, pushing the door open together.

Outside it was still a bit unseasonably chilly, but light was filtering through big gaps in the thundery clouds. A few drops of rain were still pattering, but the wind was high and the storm seemed to be moving away. There were big puddles on the ground, raindrops covering the grass, and faint curves of what might've been rainbows off in the distance.

Kylier held up a hand, looked around. "Maybe not yet, but in ten minutes or so—"

But Elena was staring over Kylier's shoulder, eyes wide and focus creasing her face. She had her pactio card in one hand, and the other was holding a wickedly curved knife that Kylier hadn't seen her wearing. "Lady Kylier, look out—!"

She whirled, caught a glimpse of someone in a white coat holding up something that looked like an unholy mating of crossbow and slingshot—and then there was a massive flash like lightning, and a great crack as the bolts tried to envelop her body. Underneath the rumble, there might've been something like a man's scream, but momentarily blinded and deafened, Kylier had no way of knowing for sure.


End file.
